IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)
V.
//
{•/
.<$•
^v. k°
:/
^-
1.0
I.I
1.25
■■ M 12.2
.40
12.0
|||18
\A. 111.6
Photographic
Sciences
Corporation
23 WEST MAIN STREET
WEBSTER, NY. M580
(716) 872-4503
^v
#
^^
T^
:\
\
"d?
c,\
«?^'-
^%-
^/^
CIHM/ICMH
Microfiche
Series.
CIHM/ICMH
Collection de
microfiches.
Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Instituv Canadian de microreproductions historiques
Technical and Bibliographic Notes/Notes techniques et bibliographiques
The institute has attempted to obtain the best
original copy available for filming. Features of this
copy which may be bibliographically unique,
which may alter any of the images in the
reproduction, or which may significantly change
the usual method of filming, are checked below.
D
D
D
n
□
n
n
Coloured covers/
Couverture de couleur
I I Covers damaged/
Couverture endommagde
Covers restored and/or laminated/
Couverture restaurde et/ou pelliculde
I I Cover title missing/
Le titre de couverture manque
Coloured maps/
Cartes gdographiques en couleur
Coloured ink (i.e. other than blue or black}/
Encre de couleur (i.e. autre que bleue ou noire)
I I Coloured plates and/or illustrations/
Planches et/ou illustrations en couleur
Bound with other material/
Reli6 avec d'autres documents
Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion
along interior margin/
La reliure serr^e peut causer de I'ombre ou de la
distortion le long de la marge intdrieure
Blank leaves added during restoration may
appear within the text. Whenever possible, these
have been omitted from filming/
II se peut que certaines pages blanches ajoutdes
lors d'une restauration apparaissent dans le texte,
mais, lorsque cela dtait possible, ces pages n'ont
pas 6td filmdes.
Additional comments:/
Commentaires suppl6mentaires:
L'Institut a microfilm^ le meilleur exemplaire
qu'il lui a 6X6 possible de se procurer. Les details
de cet exemplaire qui sont peut-dtre uniques du
point de vue bibliographique, qui peuvent modifier
une image reproduite, ou qui peuvent exiger une
modification dans la mdthode normale de filmage
sont indiquds ci-dessous.
D
D
D
Coloured pages/
Pages de couleur
Pages damaged/
Pages endommagdes
Pages restored and/or laminated/
Pages restaurdes et/ou pellicul6es
Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/
Pages ddcolordes, tachetdes ou piqu^es
Pages detached/
Pages d^tach^es
/
I 1 Showthrough/
D
D
Transparence
Quality of prir
Quality in^gale de I'impression
Includes supplementary materia
Comprend du materiel supplementaire
I I Quality of print varies/
I I Includes supplementary material/
Only edition available/
Seule Edition disponible
Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata
slips, tissues, etc., have been refilmed to
ensure the best possible image/
Les pages totalement ou partiellement
obscurcies par un feuillet d'errata, une pelure,
etc., ont 6t6 filmdes 6 nouveau de facon d
obtenir la meilleure image possible.
This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/
Ce document est filmd au taux de reduction indiqud ci-dessous.
10X
14X
18X
22X
26X
30X
J
12X
16X
20X
24X
28X
32X
itails
i du
lodifier
' une
mage
The copy filmed here has been reproduced thanks
to the generosity of:
National Library of Canada
The images appearing here are the best quali ./
possible considering the condition and legibility
of the original copy and in keeping with tlu^
filming contract specifications.
L'exemplaire film6 fut reproduit grdce d la
g6n6rosit6 de:
Bibliothdque nationale du Canada
Les images suivantes ont 6t6 reproduites avec le
plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condition et
de la nettet^ de l'exemplaire film6, et en
conformity avec les conditions Hm contrat de
filmage.
Original copies in printed paper covers are filmed
beginning with the front cover and ending on
the last page with a printed or illustrated impres-
sion, or the back cover when appropriate. All
other original copies are filmed beginning on the
first page with a printed or illustrated impres-
sion, and ending on the last page with a printed
or illustrated impression.
Les exempiaires originaux dont la couverture en
papier est imprimde sont film^s en commenpant
par le premier plat et en terminant soit par la
dernidre page qui comporte une empreinte
d'impression ou d'illustration, soit par le second
plat, selon le cas. Tous les autres exempiaires
originaux sont filmds en commengant par la
premidre page qui comporte une empreinte
d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par
la dernidre page qui comporte une telle
empreinte.
The last recorded frame on each microfiche
shall contain the symbol -^►(meaning "CON-
TINUED"), or the symbol V (meaning "END"),
whichever applies.
Un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur la
dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le
cas: le symbole -^^ signifie "A SUIVRE", le
symbole V signifie "FIN".
Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at
different reduction ratios. Those too large to be
entirely inciuded in one exposure are filmed
beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to
right and top to bottom, as many frames as
required. The following diagrams illustrate the
method:
Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre
film^s d des taux de reduction diffdrents.
Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre
reproduit en un seul clichd, il est i\\m6 d partir
de Tangle sup^rieur gauche, de gauche d droite,
et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre
d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants
illustrent la mdthode.
irrata
to
pelure,
n d
D
32X
1
2
3
i 1 "
2
3
4
5
6
•(■^«^r?,^
• f
MONTREAL
■:^
5Y
GASLIGHT.
i; J|
I WOULD A TALE UNFOLD, WHOSE LIGHTEST WORD
WOULD HARROW UP THY SOUL."
—Hamlet.
Cejyris^t, 1889.
PUBLISHED FOR THE TRADE,
hi,
m
CHAPTER I.
NOT AS WE SEEM.
Surely there stand few nobler cities than
Montreal — surely none more fairly situated.
Upon the banks of the St. Lawrence Montreal
lifts her thousand roofs toward the faint blue
of the Canadian sky, and her sons speak with
many tongues of the young nation to whose
tniterprise and daring she is a living, a growing
testament.
To-day Montreal ranks as the largest and
most important of Canadian cities. She has a
population of two hundred thousand souls —
including her suburbs — composed mainly of
English and French Canadians. To these add
German, Italian, Spanish, Russian, and Chinese,
and it will be seen that Montreal's inhabitants
are from every clime and of many tongues.
Not ^one ^s to numbers does Montreal
NOT AS WB 8BX1L
1
claim pre-eminence over her neighbors. Her
commerce is far-reaching, and for its accommo-
dation she has built the finest wharf-frontage
in the world. Come with me to the northern
approach of the Victoria Bridge — that monu-
ment of engineering skill — and look toward the
east. Far almost as the eye can reach are to
be seen the ships of many nations freighted
with the products of distant lands. The Grand
Trunk and Canadian Pacific railways here find
their headquarters, and Montreal is thus the
centre and distributing point of two of the
greatest railway systems in the world.
Within the city the traveller meets every
evidence of nineteenth-century progress. Let
him drive along St. Paul Street, and its solid
warehouses must impress him with the wealth
and commerce of the city. Escort him to Sher-
brooke Street, and he will see on either side
the evidences of the good taste and refinement
of the Montrealer.
vShould he be lucky enough to visit Montreal
during her Winter Carnival, let him mafk well
the fair and smiling faces of her daughters,
the stalwart forms of her sons. If, after this,
1
NOT AS WB 8SB1C 5 .
he would deny to Montreal her many beauties
he must indeed be as prejudiced as a Bostonian
or as ignorant as a Londoner.
But you, the resident of Montreal, what do
you know of your own city ? The Parisian
prides himself upon his native city, and for
hours he can discourse upon her loveliness.
** See Paris and die," he says with an air of
superiority truly French. Even the Neapoli-
tan— down-trodden, priest-ridden, dirty, and un-
happy- was impelled to reply, " See Naples
and live." To the New-Yorker there is no
street like Broadway; to the Londoner, no park
like Hyde Park. Boston, the butt of small
wits who prate incessantly of " baked beans"
and call her the home of sluggers, still boasts
of her culture, and the Bostonian, according to
W. D. Howells, is loud in praise of the beauty
and refinement of Beacon Street and Common-
wealth Avenue.
What hav^e you, dear Montrealer, to say of
your native city ?
Nothing.
It is certain as night follows day that the
ignorance of the Montrealer, as regards Mon-
s-
NOT A& W£ SKEM.
treal, is as dense as it is remarkable. A witty
king of France once said, after hearing a ser-
mon by tiie Abbd Maury, "If he knew a little
about religion he would know a little about
everything. It might well be said of the
Montrealcr that all he requires to be a well-
informed man is an acquaintance with his native
city. It is certain that he is lacking in knowl-
edge and appreciation of his own city. Upon
other subjects he is at least the equal of his
American cousins.
Would indeed that it was the object of this
short sketch to open the eyes of the dweller in
the Canadian metropolis to the beauties of his
native city, or to lead the stranger to visit there
and enjoy its hospitality ! Fain would we dwell
longer upon its public buildings, its parks, its
railways, and its people. Another and a less
pleasant task is before us.
To Montreal, as to every great city, flows each
year the ceaseless tide of immigration. It brings
with it the young man and maiden upon the
threshold of independent life, — recruits for the
great army of wage-earners and breadwinners.
Driven perhaps by desperation from the shores
■Jill
JNOT AS WJ£ Li££M.
of unhappy Ireland, or, it may be, leaving the
quiet of the simple Cawadian village, they enter
within the city's walls and begin a life to whose
hardships they are unaccustomed, against whose
temptations, alas ! they may not be proof.
Does it not become a duty to warn them ?
If aught written here should bo the means of
guiding aright one stumbler's feet, this book
has not been written in vain.
•' But," say resident and visitor alike, " Mon-
treal is a fairly moral city. It is not like Lon-
don or Paris; it 's different from New York
and Chicago. You would not compare it with
Boston, where Si i with painted face and gaudy
dress nightly walks the cfowded streets. It is
not St. Louis, where the Lord's Day is forgot-
ten, nor New Orleans, where gambling is car-
ried on with open doors. In short, Montrealers
do not seem to be strugglers in that insane race
for inordinate wealth which is the moral ruin
of so many cities of the New World."
No ; Montreal at least wears not its scars
upon its face that all may see them. The
Pharisaical Montrealer ofttlmes is thankful that
his city is not as other cities are.
!•
"{J -. -
8 NOT AS WB 8EKM.
The Canadian who judges of New York life
through the medium of Lawyer Hummel's
book "Danger" or Talmage's sermons on
*'The Night Side of New York," and whose
ideas of Chicago are derived from one of
" Pinkerton's Detective Series," who reads i '
the pages of Gautier, wSylvcster, or Zola of th^
awful vices and shameless profligacy of modern
Paris, is justified in believing that Montreal,
with all her sins upon her head, is no sink of
iniquity like these. But for all her modest
face, her moral ways, and her countless
churches, the Canadian metropolis is not only
to be seen on a sunny September afternoon.
There is a reverse to the medal.
Montreal has indeed its seamy side ; and the
young and inexperienced will do well to read
and profit by another's knowledge, else their
ignorance may cost them dear.
Back of the well-lighted streets and the
open, honest faces are other streets whose
lights burn not so brightly, and other faces not
so fair.
Come with me, dear reader, and you will see
where Sin and Misery dwell together, — where
i.-JigiW^'.V^yf^^^ij'^^g?^.
KOT AS WK BBE1C
the gambler behind close-drawn curtains and
locked doors is winning the money his victim
can ill alTord to lose; where gilded \ ice in its
every form holds high holiday, ande very shred
of modesty and virtue lies torn and bleeding ;
to houses of quiet looks and sombre appear-
ance, where is nightly told
"The same sad, wretc. . 1 story that for ages bards
have sung,
Of a woman weal .nd villinc: :ind a villain'^ t^'mpt-
ing tongue" —
where Virtue at hA surrenders, and insane de-
sire with burning eye- seizes upon its prey;
where wretched men in stiliiiig j>est-holes
drink madly their ruin here and hereafter,
while near at hand, perhaps, their family, with
hunger faint, cry for bread in accents which
would melt a statue. Walk with me through
factories which know neither air nor sunlight,
where children of tender years are forced by
cruel parents to work from chili morning to
dewy night for wages such as are supposed to
be paid only in London or New York.
It may be then that the Canadian will recog-
nize that London is not alone "the modern
10
NOT AS WIS SEEK.
Babylon," but that the Minotaur of brutal lust
and the blind worshipper o^ Mammon live in
their midst. He will see then tha* because
«
Montr ;al has no Hay market, no Chelsea Gar-
dens, it is not therefore a very citadel of virtue,
but that the scarlet woman is our neighbor and
flaunts her sin in our faces.
Upon the streets of Montreal are daily seen
the cheery faces and ofttimes is heard the
merry laughter of the young toilers in the
ranks of labor. But behind the smiling lips is
there not often the sad heart, and is not the
laughter forced and hollow ?
Last and greatest of all, think you that the
modern plague of London is not known to us ?
Are we not infected ? In the thirteen hundred
places where strong drink is sold, one liquor
store to every one hundred and fifty inhabitants,
can you not find food for reflection — aye, and
a field for labor ?
Let the Canadian think these things over.
Let him come with me, and he will find more
things in Montreal than are dreamt of in his
philosophy.
What say you ?
THE YBNE-MENT-BOUSS.
11
CHAPTER II.
THE TENEMENT-HOUSE.
Of late years, the fashionable world of Lon-
don, wearied in its pursuit of pleasure, its sated
senses sleeping from excess of excitement, its
every conceivable source of enjoyment failing,
betook itself to scenes of which it until then
had but a shadowy idea. The Park and Rot-
ten Row, Lord's, Hurlinghame, Richmond,
the theatre and the opera-house, had all been
done to death. The parade in the Park, the
shooting at Hurlinghame, the sports at Lord's,
and the drives and suppers at Richmond no
longer supplied the devotees of pleasure with
their needed stimulant. The stage-manage-
ment of an Irving, the graces of a Terry, the
music of Patti's voi* c, or the harmonies of
Hans Richter's orchestra at the Albert Hall
were seen, heard, and admired. But this was
not sensation, to stir the feeble pulse and send
the patrician blood coursing through shrivelled
B,J.3U\--'J. ■
- ■ > j^..-. »<-*%Q.- t Fit ^^nfciTJi— Lj -■V*' afj-
"f
12
THE TENEMENT-HOUSE.
veins with new life. Where could the nobility
find a relief from the monotony of fashionable
London life ? Every sight and every scene in
society was familiar and wearisome. The per-
son who could find for these — the salt of the
earth — a new diversion, one which would prove
a pleasure, not a penalty, might claim from
them I he ransom of a king. He would be
honored, paragraphed, interviewed, and his
name would be known and famous wherever
the English newspapers were read. He might
even be given an entire paragraph in the
columns of the Morning Post. Surely, with
such iiiduccments before them, the wise and the
witty of London town would find this water of
life, this long-sought diversion. The man who
could once more supply the bluest blood in
England with " one crowded hour of glorious
life" must be found.
One fine day he appeared.
Who was he, this benefactor, this Moses who
was to prove a leader for the chosen people ?
Was he already known to fame, noble and rich,
or was he only some obscure public-house
keeper who had Invented a new drink, some
THE TENEMENT-HOUBE.
13
low sporting man who had devised some
species of contest more exciting than fox-
\hunting, more brutal than coursing, more de-
grading than prize-fighting ?
It was nothing of this kind.
The (Edipus who had solved this riddle, or,
more properly speaking, had suggested the
solution, was only a simple paragraph in a
London daily.
What did it say, what secret had it revealed,
to so shake fashionable London to its very
heart ?
Only this and nothing more :
" On Thursday night last. Sir Charles Gran-
dison, accompanied by his wife, Sir Paul Parra-
vicin his cousin, and his two nieces the Honor-
able Misses Herbert of Herbert House, xvent,
went through some of the lowest districts of
Whitechapel and Billingsgate. Their visit was
the subject of much discussion at the reception
at Buckingham Palace last night."
This, then, vas the long-sought amusement —
the pleasure which could never pall, which age
could not wither, nor custom stale. The parade
and pomp of the fashionable world, its glitter
^1
14
THE TgNEMBin'-UOUbi:.
and its show, so tiresome and so enervating, must
pale its ineffectual fires before this latest and
best diversion. The poor, the wretched, the
downtrodden, and the starving, with hunger in
their eyes and misery written in indelible marks
upon their features, could supply an inexhaust-
ible source of pleasure ; and perhaps out of it all
some good might come. Maybe some patri-
cian heart, less flinty than the other, would hear
the song of sorrow and lend a willing hand to
smooth the path of poverty and sin.
Like a storm, the new craze spread over the
tight little island. Nothing was heard but
"The Bitter Cry of Outcast London," The
reviews and the dailies teemed with news from
the foulest quarters of the vilest city in the
world. Photographs of professional beauties
and notorious actresses for a time were at a
discount, and in their places shop-windows held
** Interior of a Whitechapel Lodging-house,"
" View of a Tenement near the Docks," and
" Group of Men and Women in Little Crooked
Street, off Mile-End Road/' Night after night
the best biood in England thronged to the dis-
tricts where Comfort and Honesty are un-
\
THE TENKMENT-HOUSE.
15
known, and where Abject Poverty and Brutal
Vice hold high carnival.
Like absinthe to the dram-drinker, like free-
dom to the convict, the latest amusement came
with a novelty and a charm simply irresistible.
It gave the pleasure-sated Englishman a new
and curious feeling, not perhaps entirely agree-
able, but fascinating: it compelled him to
think, to ponder awhile upon the sin and sor
row which lay scarce concealed below the sur-
face of Merry England, and which smouldered
with a threatening light.
The amusement travelled.
New York, English as she would be, was
not to be outdone in the eager pursuit of
pleasure. Hardly had the news crossed the
water that "The Prince of Wales formed one
of a slumming party last Monday," than every
would-be chappie in the fashionable clubs and
restaurants of the city decided that he too must
see those sights and hear those sounds in imi-
tation of "the First Gentleman in Europe."
And so it came about that the beings who
prowl about the narrow, dark, and crooked
streets surrpunding Chatham Square and the
I
.'jjaaLja^feigMji;
16
THE TENKMENT-HOUSE.
hi
lower end of the Bowery, the unfortunates
who live in sky-scraping tenements, stifling al-
ley-ways, and dark, damp cellars on Pell and
Baxter and Mulberry streets, were nightly
astonished by visits from strangers who peered
about, laughed and jested, and departed.
The craze never reached Montreal. It might
be that the inhabitants of the metropolis of
Canada were not sufficiently loyal to follow in
the footsteps of the most distinguished admirer
of the sport, or perhaps they read of the mis-
ery and poverty of London and New York,
and forgot the slums within their own ci'/'s
walls, and the starving poor at their own doors.
The latter is the true cause.
Montreal tenement-life has its dark and
seamy side, for all that it boasts of no nine-
story rookeries whose condition is a folly and
a shame unto New York. Come with me into
the poorer quarters of the city, and you will hear
the voice of hunger in accents not less eloquent
than would greet you in Mulberry Bend or
Mile-End Road. Walk in the streets running
up from the St. Lawrence River, and you will
see faces which tell of sorrow and privation
THE TENEMENT-HOUSK.
17
not less plainly than if you encounter them on
Elizabeth Street or the Old Bow Road.
Some years ago, the Montreal Star^ as a
cheerful subject for Christmas-time, published
a series of articles upon the slums of Montreal.
Well-written and clever, they excited much at-
tention at the time, and to this day the " Little
Windsor" and the " Piggery" are not forgotten.
Upon a much-frequented street in the vicinity
of St. Ann's Market on McGill Street is a four-
story stone building whose walls seem to
have come apart, not for the purpose of ad-
mitting heaven's fresh air, but to allow the
noxious exhalations from within to escape.
Formerly used as a hotel, it is now a low lodg-
ing-house, and within its four walls and upon
its four stories lived at one time no less than
twenty-eight families. In the direst poverty,
in abject want, without air, with no appliances
for health and decency, in dirt and filth appal-
ling, over one hundred and ten human beings
herded like rats in a pit, barely existing from day
to day. Small wonder was it that when the
awful small-pox epidemic of 1885 visited and
devastated the city, it found fair fuel in this
18
THE TENEMENT-HOUSE.
den. From morning to night could be seen
the burial-carts of the city standing in front of
the door, as if waiting until the pestilence
should claim another victim. They seldom
waited in vain. Dying of this foul and filthy
disease, the child of dirt and uncleanness, the
unfortunate lay with others scarcely human in
this pest-house in the heart of the city. Slowly
upon him would steal the deep stupor, the sure
precursor of death ; fainter and fainter still the
heart would — beat a quiet, almost imperceptible
sigh, and another soul had left the house of
death. Thrown into a box of unplaned boards,
the corpse would be carried down and pitched
into the burial-cart, and the slums of Montreal,
aided and abetted by dirt and unsanitary condi-
tions, had claimed another victim.
When the plague had stayed its Hand, the
officers of the law investigated this sink-hole. It
was reported unfit for habitation, and the occu^
pants were compelled to move. A few trilling
alterations were made to the place, but it still
remains, a disgrace to Montreal, but surely
taking high rank as a "A Slum."
Upon a narrow and unfrequented street in
^
TUB TENKMKNT-H0US15.
19
the vicinity of McCord Street, and adjoining
the Lachine Canal, stands a row of tenement-
houses. To the passer-by, their neat and clean
appearance without would attract attention in
so squalid and poor a district. One thing in-
deed was more than noticeable : even in sum-
mer no open blinds gave the inquiring eyes of
outsiders the satisfaction they craved. In winter
thick curtains behind the double windows shut
out the occupants of the outside world.
What secret is hidden behind those brick
walls? What scenes are enacted on the other
side of the curtains ?
Come with me and see.
Upon the ground-floor of No. 127, the first
in the row% live in three rooms two families.
Eleven human beings — created in the image
of their Maker — eat, drink, sleep, and perhaps
wash in these three rooms. In a Christian city
is this right ?
Upon a bed in the smallest room of all,
covered with dirty and tattered blankets, lies
the form of a man. The pale face, sunken
eyes, and wasted cheeks need no interpreter^
Here sorrow, poverty, and hunger speak
■'■mm'ifm&mii^
20
THE TENEMENT-HOUSE.
in tongue that all may hear and understand.
This man, until lately a stonemason upon the
works for the new Canal, was seriously injured
by the falling upon him of some heavy stones.
At first he deemed his injuries trifling, and was
glad to accept a paltry hundred dollars from
his employer in full of all claims for injuries
received while in his employ. But the days
moved on, the obstinate flesh refused to heal,
days became months, and he was compelled to
sell his furniture and move to his present dwel-
ling. His wife earns an occasional dollar,
which always goes the way of the corner
saloon, and his three young sons sell papers.
In this way they exist.
The second family who occupy this tene-
ment are in even a worse plight. They are
husband and wife with no children, but they
are always drunk. When they cannot buy
the liquor they steal it.
In the third room, which is used for bed-
room, kitchen, and occasionally as a wash-
room, four unfortunates sleep as best they can.
They are the young children of a man who
deserted his family, and of a woman driven to
tnt tfiKBlfBNT-HOUSle.
il
death by drink. The kind-hearted neighbors
once in a while give them food and drink, and
the eldest boy makes enough from odd jobs
to pay two dollars a month for rent of his
den. Here is squalor and misery ; in a room
reeking with vile odors and foul with dirt,
he and three sisters lie out upon the floor and
sleep as best they can.
Do you still doubt Montreal has no tene-
ments where cleanliness and health are un-
known?
Come with me to the second story, and
read another lesson from the Book of Sorrow.
In three rooms whose condition is fouler, if
possible, than the apartments downstairs live
a husband and wife and nine children. Again
eleven persons, where there should be but
five. The w^ater turned off, the sink long ago
choked up, the floors thick with dir*,, and a
swarm of children almost naked roll upon the
floor, gathering more dirt as they play. Upon
a bed in the corner, a drunken man ; in a
broken chair, a woman sobbing. It is enough.
Upon the top floor tho partitions dividing
the rooms have been torn down, and the floor
I I
22
TtIK TENEyEXT-HOUSK.
is pile 1 with rags — foul-looking and ill-smell-
ing. The holes in the roof have been patched
up with paper and anything handy.
But th'j room is deserted. Does no one
occupy this flat } is it untenanted ?
Go there at night, when the horrors of the
place are made more horrible by shadows
dark md forbidding. Upon this floor, scarce
twenty-four feet long and nine broad, are
stretched fourteen men and boys. Fourteen,
did you say ?
Aye, fourteen and sometimes more, for this
room is let to a harpy in humnn form, who
in turn sublets it to any man willing to pay
ten cents a night. The lowest in this poverty-
stricken district congregate there : disease-rid-
den, loathsome, and drunken lie down side by
side, and snatch as best they can a few hours
of heavy and unrefreshing sleep.
What need to go farther ? Why visit No.
129 or No. 131, and hear again with silent
tongue this sad, sad tale of woe? We would
but listen to the same story told in other
words; we would but feel the same tugging
s
ii i
iauJJJtJfc
TUB TBNBMBlTT-nOUBB.
M
■x
at our heart-strings and be saddened. We
can do no good.
There is no need to visit the tumble-down
dwellings in the East End — dwellings, which
lie in rows between such streets as Visita-
tion and Beaudry, or Wolfe, or Montcalm. It
is not necessary to see the interior of the
mean and dirty tenements on the Ruelle Pcr-
rault or the Rue Labelle. The crumbling
houses on Barrack and old St. Paul streets
near the river would repeat to us what we have
already heard.
Farther east, again, in Hochelaga, in dwell-
ings not fit for human habitation, live the
countless workers in mill and machine-shop,
in factory and in foundry ; their wages re-
duced year by year by grinding competition
and tariff-fattened monopoly, or ofttimes driven
out of employment entirely by the arms of
fast-toiling, never-wearying machinery. In
these districts, not thickly populated like New
York, or Paris, or London, the misery is scat-
tered. The tenement-houses do not raise their
hideous heads to heaven in endless rows, far as
the eye can reach. Often they are semi-de-
mmmmmm.
u
THE FACTORY.
tached, or in groups of two or three ; but the
misery, the poverty, the sorrow are there.
We will not take the visitor to the dense
and stifling lodging-houses of the East End
on St. Constant or Jacques Cartier streets,
where wretched men and sinful women lease
rooms, and live concealed from the public eye.
They are there. To describe them all would
be a Herculean task.
Some day, it may be, organized charity will
see fit to look with searching eyes into this
evil so widespread and serious. Individual
effort is almost useless. The sad facts must
be accepted and sorrowed over.
CHAPTER HI.
THE FACTORY.
It may truthfully be said that as most fac-
tories are run in daytime except at very
Dusy times, when they are kept running at
night, the heading of this chapter is rather
at variance with the title of the book. The
THE FACtOEY.
25
reader may thus be reminded of the book by a
forgotten author who in beginning a chapter on
'* The Snakes of Ireland " prefaced it by say-
ing "there are no snakes in Ireland," and he
may complain thereat.
Should these objections be carried out to
their legitimate conclusion, the title of this
sketch would not apply to sundry other chap-
ters. We could make a rcductio ad absurdum
and find that the main streets of Montreal for
many years have been lighted by electric light,
and much of our edifice so patiently con-
structed would thus be demolished almost at a
word.
The objection would have no foundation in
sober ear.iest. In using the title " Montreal
by Gaslij.;ht" the endeavor was made to at-
tract attention to the darker side of our city
life, to expose its sin, its shame, and its sorrow
as with a limelight, and to stir up our citizens
to seek a ^emedy for each particular evil.
Had we the spear of Iihuriel that we might
illumine with cekstial fire each subject we
touched, the heavenly light would be none too
bright, none too strong.
26
THE FACTOKY.
The stranger standing upon Mount Royal,
and seeing the fair city sleeping at its slope,
could not fail to notice the number of tall
chimneys rising heavenward in the clear blue
of the Canadian sky. Were he a man of ob-
servation and thought, he would say to him-
self:
" Here is a city where Vulcan forges in many
places, where Commerce centres and distributes
tiie wares of weary toil. In its thousands of
factories and workshops, its mills and its
foundries, are crowded the poor of every
class, of many nations, and of all ages. Their
condition, social, mental, moral, aaid physical,
will be of interest to me. I will visit them."
It is no subject for congratulation to Mon-
treal that in some respects the state of its la-
boring population is better than in the larger
cities of the world. There are not in Mon-
treal any 5uch human beehives as in the cigar
factories and clothing houses of lower New
York, but there is a depth of ignorance, of un-
progressiveness, in the ranks of the toilers of
the East End of London, which would open
the eyes of iie cultured West-Ender.
THK FACTORY.
27
It may sound unfair and biassed to speak
against the state of the French Canadian popu-
lation of the Faubourg de Quebec, but the
facts are there. By some their condition has
been charged to account of the mother church,
whose poHcy of repression in reHgious thought
has caused a positive stagnation in matters
secular. It may be that the wishes of the
priesthood with regard to the advisability of
early marriages has caused this arrest of physi-
cal progress. Certain it is that, with few ex-
ceptions, the advanced workers, the promoters,
the pioneers in lower Canada have been the
English, and the classes who compose the
manufacturing woikers of the East End of
Montreal have been left far behind in the race
for progress.
Living in the latter part of the nineteenth
century as he does, the French Canadian
worker of Montreal is still indeed "lenfant
de I'ancien r^^gime." He walks with us and
works for us, but his thoughts, his habits, and
his ideas are two centuries behind. Living in a
land where religious, literary, and moral and
mental progress arc nt rly at the highest point
28
tllE FACTORt".
of development, he does not take advantage of
his position, but remains stationary.
Far in the East End of Montreal, an enor-
mous five-story brick building spreads its hid-
eous length along the shores of old St. Law-
rence. The hideous noises proceeding there-
from attract at once the attention of the
passer by. It is a cotton-mill, created by a
protective tariff, and fostered by the care of the
capitalist.
Within its bare walls the busy toilers sit in
stifling air, and work until nightfall. If it be
true that man must work, then work under
these conditions is not so hateful. Upon the
faces of its many workers can seldom be read
the sign of starvation : it is fair at the surface.
But let us look deeper. Here sits a man a
shade paler perhaps than his fellows, but not
otherwise noticeable. His face, essentially
French, marks him a descendant of the original
invaders of the land, and it bears the imprint
of care. He knows that a reduction of hands
is threatened, and, if it comes, he must go.
Over-competition has spoilt the business of
late years, and the periodical reduction will
THE FACTORT.
29
likely come around. He .vill be unprepared.
At home a wife and six children wait for him.
Upon the wages paid him, his family and him-
self barely exist ; saving is out of the ques-
tion.
Now and again the question enters his mind :
Why is there trouble ahead? If he had not
married young, life would be comparatively
easy for him. Well, he married early because
his father did, and his grandfather before him,
and '!ie Church encouraged him. True, his
ancestors did not work in a stifling factory,
but were tillers of the soil ; but he forgot that
when he married. Is it the fault of the fac-
tory for not paying better wages? Be it as it
may, the outlook is far from cheering.
But his case is indeed insignificant when
we look deeper and further.
One of the most profitable industries in
Montreal is the business of cigar-making.
There is little or no tenement-house work done
at this date, but what of the factories ?
Let us visit them. The attempt, if success-
ful, will not be without interest.
On this head let justice be done first, that no
fm
30
THK FACTORY.
J ■■ I
V '
M
'*'-:>
man may suffer undeserved loss, even in the
estimation of humanity. There is one factory
in Montreal, — the largest in Canada, — situ-
ated not far from the Theatre Royal, where
injustice and misery are not known, where
cleanliness is as marked a feature of the estab-
lishment as its opposite at the majority of sim-
ilar factories. Its owner is to-dav rich and
respected, and his money has not been made
through the tears and privations of his fellows.
Ouitc recentlv a labor commission was ap-
pointed to sit in Montreal and sift the evi-
dences of unfairness, injustice, uncleanness,
immorality, and unhealthiness of the various
labor-employing establishments of Montreal.
First upon the black-list of dishonor stood the
cigar factories.
Commission was appointed to sit in Mon-
treal and sift the evidences of unfairness, in-
justice, uncleanness, immorality, and unhealthi-
ness of the various labor-employing establish-
ments of Montreal. First upon the Black
List of Di;:honor stood the cigar factories.
What four revelations came as a result of
that commission, — what heartrending stories
I-
,* ,4
* -J.
THE FACTOKi:.
81
of unfair wa^cs, unjust fines, inhuman over-
seers, and unhealthy factories ! What man can
read the sad story of wrong done by employer
to employed without realizing the truth of the
lines that
"Man's inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands mourn."
Aye ! did they read of the child-labor and
its sad results in Montreal's cigar factories they
would weep their eyes dry. Did they know of
the danger to body and mind, to the health and
morals of the employees of these Canadian
galleys, ground down by grasping employers
and abused by brutal ov^erscers, they would
have realized that within their own city was a
white slavery worse than the darkest hours in
the South befor" the war.
The Labor Commission has done much to
improve the condition of the toilers in the
many cigar factories of the city. The Cigar
Makers' Union has lent a helping hand, and
yet, while much has been done, more remains.
If we can pass the Argus-eyed guardian who
watches the factory door, and effectually pro-
.'J£ A*--*^
32
THE FACTORY.
vides against violation of the notice which so
boldly stares us in the face, " Positively no ad-
mittance," we will form ourselves into a com-
mission of two and investigate for ourselves.
Past the door, up two flights of dark and
narrow stairs, v/e hear the sound of machinery
and the hum of voices. Ere we have time to
fully appreciate the consequences to the em-
ployers of a fire in such a death-trap, we see
before us one of the work-rooms.
Here, in stifling air foul with odors of to-
bacco, machine-oil, perspiration, and a thousand
other evil-smelling substances, are seated the
slaves of the leaf. Young and old, women and
men, boys and girls, from seven o'clock in the
morning until six o'clock at night, with one
short hour for dinner, they toil for three dollars
a week and sometimes two. There are no
toilet appliances, no fire escapes, no facilities
for ventilation : there is nothing but work and
a brutal foreman to enforce it.
Of the facts brought to light by the Labor
Committee, we must take but passing notice.
The brutal beatings, the want of privacy be-
tween the sexes, and the unjust finings and
THE FACiORr.
88
Imprisoriment in the Mack holes are almost
done a\v^;- with ; bul liie abuses of improper
ventilation, the want of fire appliances, and
the like, remain unto tliis clay.
It is not alone of cotton-mills and cigar fac-
tories that we might write. Hardly any class
of manufacturing in Montreal but has its
abuses.
Walk thrc gh the boot and shoe factories,
the house . where ready-made clothing work is
farmed out, the type-foundries and printing-
houses, and the thousand other industries of
the city, and everywhere can be learnt the same
lesson. From e ery branch of toil comes the
sad story of long hours, unsteady work, low
wages, and improper treatment — in a word,
the slavery of labor and ignorance to capital
and enterprise.
It does not come within the province of
such a book at this to advocate or even suggest
a remedy for this sad state of affairs. It should
be sufficient that we draw attention to the facts.
But a few words ere closing this subject,
Montreal to-day is growing fast. Within
her boundaries are livincr nearly two hundred
di
d4
THK FACTOBT.
thousand souls. Situated as she is, at the head
of navigation, and being, as she is, the head-
quarters of two of tiie largest railway corpora-
tions in the world, Montreal's rranufacturing
interests must grow apace. The number of
her toilers in the vineyard is increasing daily.
But is their condition improving? Will
labor in Montreal throughout the coming years
be happy, or will it follow in the footsteps of
labor in the United States.
In New York, Boston, and Chicago, the
condition of the poor is indeed sad. Crowded
by pauper immigration, ground down by the
powers of combined capital, and too often
aiding in his own downfall by supporting the
corner saloon, there are many pitiful tales to
be read in the factories over the border.
And yet signs are not wanting that com-
bined labor iS beginning to feel that it has
rights which even capital must respect. It
pleads for them now with hunger-faint voice
and plaintive, toil-worn faces.
It may be that some day labor will raise and
demand that for which it now pleads. That
■M
i
THB HOtTSB OF ASSIOKATIOK.
i0
demand will mean riot, strike, and even civil
war.
America is slowly drifting thither. Why
not Canada ?
And if Canada, where will the trouble begin
but in Montreal ?
Think over this.
CHAPTER IV.
■w]
THE HOUSE OF ASSIGNATION.
It would be idle, if not criminal, to suppose
that any city of the size of Montreal would
be free from the cardinal sin in its darkest as-
pect. There are, it is true, no Harpies of the
kind read of in American papers as living out
their shame in New York or Chicago. In
Montreal there are no dens where innocence
is sold to evil by guilty and shameless parents,
and the sad tragedies of modern London are
seldom witnessed in our midst. We have no
Minotaurs, like modern Babylon, to be printed
:^^\¥'<V''M'iiV'''s.;.a*'iit-
I!
M
TH« HOtrsB OP AMtr.^ATlO!^.
by notoriety-seeking journals of the PaU Mall
Gazette stamp.
But for all this, shall we say that Montreal
has only its ordinary vices?
Such a statement would be far from the
truth. Outwardly, Montreal is virtuous — this
cannot be gainsaid ; but, behind the scenes,
strange sights are witnessed.
It may be that in our colder Canadian cli-
mate, the young men, occupied as they are
all day, and devoted to athletic sports, have
often neither the time nor the inclination to
devote to those pursuits affected by the young
men and old beaux of New York. In Mon-
treal, ciiippie-chasing has not reached the dig-
nity of an occupation, and its followers are but
amateurs,. It is well.
Strolling down St. Catherine Street from
Peel Street, past the Queen's Hail Block to
Blenev Street, the strai,<Tfer cannot fail to be
impressed with the number of young men and
young women walking up and down, and
chatting as gaily as Parisians. This is the
evening promenade of the better classes.
Down Bleney Street to Craig, the wanderer
(M
THE HOUSE OF ASSIGNATION.
$1
turns his steps, along Craig (the local New
Jerusalem), St. Lawrence Main Street, and
over upon that famous thoroughfare, he real-
izes that he is upon the local Sixth Avenue.
There can be no mistaking the faces of
many of the promenaders. They, in the
American vernacular, would be called "yel-
low."
In front of low saloons and cigar stores of
questionable repute, are gathered in knots the
i<lle, the ignorant, and the vicious of Mon-
treal's French population. Who are they all?
They are the innumerable members of the
family of "ne'cr-do-wcels," who find here a
stamping-ground ; petty clerks out of employ-
ment, skin gamblers, petty storekeepers, and
a hundred other specimens of the wastes and
burdens of society.
Of the women who float up and down the
pavements of this famous street at nightfall,
much might be written, and much more is un-
reportable. Many are honest, respectable wo-
men, the wives of hard-working husbands,
shopping, or taking fresh air at the close of
the d;'y. The great majority, however, are
i <
1
88
THE HOUSE OP ASSIGNATION
\ I
either the women whom Mercy Merrick has
described as " driven from want to sin," or
else young girls who have foolishly preferred
the idle pleasure of an hour to the strait and
narrow road of virtue.
Around this district are the fashionable " re-
treats" of Montreal. It is the " Tenderloin
Precinct," and the streets which form this sec-
tion of the city have anything but a savory
reputation.
St. Charles Borrome(3, St. Dominique, St.
Constant, and St. Elizabeth Streets, running
north and south, and Vitre, Lagauchetiere, and
Mignonne Streets, running east and west, con-
tain much of the social vice of the citv. The
"castles," if not precisely "gilded palaces of
sin," as the New York establishments are gen-
erally described, are in many cases rttractive
within, if not inviting without. Seldom or
never as in larger cities, on the walls of such
places do we see the card bearing the signifi-
cant legend of " Furnished Rooms," but their
reputation is known to police and public for
years past.
Upon a certain corner of Dorchester Street,
i
m
THE HOUSE or ASSIGXATIOX.
SO
not far from St. Lawrence Main Street, is a
solid-looking brick house. Here for many
years, and until very recently, liv^ed the acknowl-
edged jueen of the local demi-monde. By a
strange fatality, the house is now occupied as
a Woman's Sheltering Home. If those walls
had tongues, they could a tale unfold which
would startle the present occupants.
For ten years past, this woman reigned as
the first in that special branch of illegitimate
industry. By what merit she has been raised
to that bad eminence, does not appear ; but>
certain it is that, had the police cast their nets
there any night in the week during her sove-
reignty, they would have made a rare catch.
Fast bank clerks, prominent young lawyers,
and well-known French merchants formed the
retinue, and drank night into day.
How sad a tale could be told of this house!
How many foolish young women could point
to it with a look that spoke everything ! How
many faithless wives played a part herein 1
"The same sad, wretched story that for ages bards
have sun<f,
Of a woman weak and willing and a villain's tempt-
ing tongue,"
40
THE HOUSE OF ASSIGXATIOy.
There is no need to say more. The story is
always old and always new.
To-dav this wortian is mistress of a similar
establishment. Free from police or official in-
terference, she flourishes like the green bay-tree
of Scripture, within a stone's throw of her
former residence.
Another establishment, not less infamous,
reared its impudent head to the sunlight, upon
St. Lawrence Main Street. A more or less
fashionable milHnery store occupies the base-
ment, and its signs have the name of the owner
of the entire concern.
The millinery business was but a blind. No
woman need be ashamed to enter a millinery
store. Once there, a few steps toward the rear,
an ornamented wooden partition passed, and a
flight of stairs led to the fools' paradise above.
How many have ascended that stairway in
guilty fear ? how many have descended in sad
regret ?
The lady patrons being thus provided for,
the gentlemen's wants had to be met. For a
man to enter a millinery store on St. Lawrence
Main Street might attract attention ; and at
THE HOUSE OF ASSIGNATION".
i1
night it would have attracted attention to
keep open. Thus it came that " madaine " be-
thought her of a rear entrance.
On St. Dominique Street, near Dorchester,
an unpaintcd and unvarnished door claimed
no attention from the passer-by. If noticed,
it would only be considered as leading into a
yard.
Many knew different. This insignificant
and harmless-looking door led into a covered
passage running through the yard and into the
house of which the millinerv store was hut an
outside blind. Could any contrivance be more
simple or more secret — a millinery store in
front and a door leading apparently into a
yard in rear ?
How many of Montreal's bravest and best
knew of this notorious spot? How many of
the local '* four hundred " had entered through
that narrow gate ? The " madame" alone could
tell.
To-day this woman lives in a gorgeously
furnished house within a quarter of a mile of
her former residence. The back of her house
commands a view of a public s(^uare, and it
42
THE HOUSE OF ASSIGNATION.
may he that ere long there will be, as on St.
Lawrence Main Street, two ways of getting
into this home of Messalina.
Some of Montreal's most prominent citi-
zens are not unknown to this abode of Venus.
A well-known printer and his brother, an
attach-i of a foreign service, a prominent mer-
chant and leader in volunteer military circles,
a prominent man about town, separated from
his charming wife, but still devoted to the fair
sex, the light-brained son of a wealthy wine
merchant, the two sporting sons of a retired
commission merchant, and a lot of card-play-
ing and hard-drinking French clubmen for
years supported this house. Its every foot of
car[)ct, its every piece of furniture, is purchased
with tiie wages of sin.
F^ncouraged by the success of these two estab-
lishments, the frail ones moved like the course
of empire, and westward took their way.
In a more or less secluded street not far from
Bleury Street the first atteinptwas made. The
favorite of a well-known police officer, now lost
to sight in the obscurity of the St. Vincent de
Paul Penitentiary, installed herself as mistress
I
i
p
THK nOUSR OF ASSIGNATIOir.
48
of a sumptuously furnished, if small, house, and
made her bid for public favor. For a time all
went well, until one day a nasty piece of scandal
about a young, pretty, but unhappily married
woman and the handsome and good-natured
but useless son of a retired banker got noised
abroad. The house had been some time under
suspicion, and this was the coup de grace. The
stout but still charming owner folded her tent
like the Arabs, and silently put her effects into
an express wagon and departed.
For awhile this house had realized all the
hopes of its occupant. Its respectable sur-
roundings and its nearness to the fashionable
quarter of the city, as it were, "spoke volumes
in its favor." But the neighbors gradually
opened iheir eyes to the facts in the case, the
scandal brought it into prominence, and the
owner, believing discretion the better part of
valor, retired.
But the establishment which was piw excel-
lence the Mecca of high-toned sinners in Mon-
treal remains to be told of.
On a side street, and an eminently respect-
able one, in the immediate vicinity of one of
4
44
THE HOUSE OF ASSIGNATION.
M
the public squares a simple-looking and unsugs
gestive two-story tenement stood. Its appear^
ance was as neat without as the seaside cottage
of the retired banker, and in summer-time its
open windows gathered in the fresh air. Its
entire look spoke of its intense respectability,
and the children who romped about the little
plot of grass in front, and made a playground
of its •* nt steps, nodded and smiled at the
midd't -^; i but still handsome woman whose
ficc «;howed itself at times at the window. Her
distingui^i v^d uearirg and sunny face perfumed
the entire neighborhood with the air of honest v,
and her fme old Scotch name seemed appro-
priate to its owner.
But alas ! for appearances she was but a wolf
in slieep's clothing; and behind tlie smiling
mask were the teeth which rend, the hand of
steel in the glove of kid.
The sign ** Dressmaker," which stood out in
bold relief upon the door, was sufficient reason
for the free occasional female visitors, and at
night no callers, male or female, desecrated the
quiet of the neighborhood.
vSham, sham, all sham! The women who
tJllS HOtrSB OF* A.SSlONATlOJf.
45
visited her in the day-time, who rushed hurried-
ly up the steps and through the open door, were
but victims of their own passions and folhes.
But their companions in sin, — where were
they?
A cunningly concealed door in a fence near
by, opening into the yard of this house, but
shielded from view by a convenient wood-shed,
solved the mystery.
Amongst the supporters of this worst, be-
cause safest, of the fashionable dens of the city,
hers claim particular attention. One, a broken-
down stock- broker, whose heavy failure a few
years before had caused much comment, was, in
the vernacular, "an habitual frequenter." With
him came another sweet sample of the same
genus, an aged Don Juan, senile and tottering,
and yet preserving, even in his decay, the hot
blood and passions of youth. In their trail
followed some of the younger })loods of the
city, and there was often a sound of revelry by
night, which, however, did not penetrate farther
than the four walls of the house.
There is no space here to record further the
houses of this class in Montreal. Nor is there
46
THE BOtrSB OP ASSTCNATIOK.
necessity. The evil would seem to be insep-
arable from every large city, and Montreal is
no exception.
Here, only, the business is pursued more
openly and with less deference to public
opinion. For years the same houses are oc-
cupied for similar purposes and police, interfer-
ence is unknown.
This is not as it should be.
In this chapter mention only has been made
of the better class of establishments which prey
upon the sin and shame of their fellow-crea-
tures. Of the others, no word is necessary.
From St. Lawren-^e Street eastward to the
boundary line they are without number, and
they blot their city's face.
But what of down-town ?
Upon St. James and Notre Dame Streets,
from McGill Street east to St. Gabriel Street,
how many buildings whose rooms and suites of
rooms, ostensibly let for offices, are in reality
used for immoral purposes? How often are
the first flats of these buildings placarded with
the signs of "Lawyer," "Notary," or "Finan-
1
^■^
THE HOUSE OF ASSIOXATlON.
47
I
cial Agent," and the upper flats at night given
over to scenes of riot and debauciiery ?
Every Sunday the caretaker of one of these
buildings can he seen with immaculate white
linen and shining silk iiat wending his way with
wife and child to mass at the noble parish
church. Who, of the hundreds who meet him,
could guess that his ine clothing is bought
with hush-money wrun.^ from the tenants in
his building?
And he is but one.
Hypocrites, hypocrites, hypocrites!
EUit after thus laying bare the city's sores,
what have we to offer? What remedy would
we suggest ?
Would indeed that we knew ore ! Then
of a surety would we be wiser than all our fel-
lows ; nay, than all the human race who went
before us to the bright shores of eternity. The
problem is no nearer solution than it was in
the days when John saw the scarlet woman of
Babylon cast down — in a dream.
Man cannot be made virtuous by legislation.
It needs no ghost come back from hell to tell
us this, nor any brief sketch of city life cither.
48
ttlE HOtJSft Of ASSWNAtlOW.
V I
ii 1
li
Man and woman both are born deceitful above
all things and desperately wicked.
Still, back of this dark picture is the silver
lining of hope. V^ice, wc are told, is a monster
of such hideous mien that to be hated he needs
only to be seen. It may be that by showing
him naked and horrible, by revealing his utter
hatefulness and unworthiness, we may save one
struggling and tempted wanderer from tread-
ing the primrose path of dalliance, and turn
his steps aright.
Surely, young people, there is another and a
better life.
You, young man, who would pursue with evil
wish some weak and helpless woman, remember,
" The pretty toy so fiercely sought
Loses all charm by being caught."
If you would be a man, think over the unman-
liness of it.
TBK MIGHT RESTAUBANT.
40
CHAPTER V.
THE NIGHT RESTAURANT.
The American visitor to Montreal cannot
fail to be impressed with our essential differ-
ence between the Canadian metropolis and
any of the larger American cities. He looks
on every corner and scans the occupation of
every block, but he seeks almost in vain for
the well-known, nay, too familiar, sign, " Res-
taurant."
The Montrealer, as a rule, lives at home, and
prides himself upon it. He aims to be English,
and therefore insular.
To him — English as the descendant of Eng-
lishmen— the idea of taking his breakfast, din-
ner, and tea in public is unutterably repulsive.
He fancies, in his conceit, that people are look-
ing at him and thinking of whr»*- 1 c is eating,
and he pictures himself the subject of count-
less jests by the occupants of other tables sur-
rounding him. He imagines that they are
i\
50
THE mOHT BE8TAURANT.
watching his honest consumption of English
roast beef as the visitors to the Zoo watch the
feeding of the animals, and make mental notes
thereof; and he declines the honor of havit
his appetite or want of it discussed ; hr refuses
to let his fellow-men see the smile which
comes across every Englishman's face when he
has eaten a well-cooked meal ; and he denies
them the pleasure of hearing the sigh of satis-
faction which involuntarily escapes him as he
pushes away his almost empty plate.
There is another and a better reason why
the Eno;lish-bred or English descended Mor
trealer declines to " feed in public," as '
phrases it. He has been in that bete noire to the
Englishman, an American restaurant, and his
soul, and stomach, and good taste have rebelled.
He has satisfied himself that the American
nation, as a whole, not only do not know what
to eat, but do not know how to eat.
An unspeakable horror fills his soul at the
thought of daily taking his meals at the same
table, or even in the same room, with persons
who eat their potatoes with their knives, and
who empty their tea into their saucers to cool
TUB NIGHT RESTAURANT.
51
it before drinking. He has dined in New
York a few times, at Parker's, Trainer's,
Brown's, or even Delmonico's, and he has seen
on several occasions men at table with him or
near him whose style of " feeding," as he calls
it, was repulsive to his cultured tastes. In his
English hastiness of judgment on anything un-
English, he condemnetl the eating-habits of
the entire body politic of America, and refuses
to allow his judgment to lie.
If perchance he is a married man, the idea of
bringing his refined and cultured wife — with
her English birth and breeding written indel-
ibly upon every feature of her handsome face —
to such a mixed and unpolished circle as would
greet her in any restaurant is too laughable
for serious consideration. He has time and
again seen Americans dining with their wives
and children at the restaurant tables of New
York, but he is tempted to deny the evidence
of his eyes. If he believes it at all, it is verily
as he believes in the aerial suspension of a
Houdin or a Hoffmann. It looks real, but
there is something untrue about it — something
unreal somewhere.
Aa
THE N^IGHT RESTArKANT.
No, the home-destroying practice of restau-
rant-living lias not yet invaded the still English
land of Canada. If he cannot afford a first-
ciass hotel, the Canadian, hachek r or benedict,
goes to a boarding-house, where, if perchance
his fellow-boarders do not all eat as prescribed
by the unwritten law of society, he has a
chance to discover their good qualities and
overlook their defects of training.
Down in town, it is true, the restaurants
flouiish in rows. There is no down-town
Delnionico's in Montreal, but where could
meals be better served than at Conij^ain's?
where can oysters be eaten with more enjoy-
ment than at Freeman's? or where are steaks
more tender than at " lohnnv, the Fat Bov's?"
The night restaurant in Montreal is not in-
deed a prominent featnre of the city. The
goriGceous and brilliant establishments in New
York which from ten o'clock at night until
dawn are tilled with fair women and brave men
are almost unknown. ThtM'c is but one first-
class theatre in Montreal, to keep honest [)eo-
ple up and out until late ; and the other class
of supporters of niglit restaurants in New
THE XIGKT R EST A m INT.
19
York, the demi-monde, are not a sufficiently
attractive lot to entice the gilded youth of the
city into the extravagance of late suppers.
And yet there is in Montreal, a restaurant as
deservedly popular with a certain class as Del-
monico's is in the American metropolis — a res-
taurant whose steaks arc not less inviting than
Parker's, and whose oysters are in no way in-
ferior to O'Neill's. Need it he said, that this
place is Beau's, the famous Occidental ?
The Occidental is tiie one true glimpse
of Parisan or New York life in Montreal.
Everything about it is foreign. The polite
and gentk'manly manager who greets you at
the door with a " Bon soir, messieurs!" that is
an echo of tlie Boulevard des Italiens; the
whitc-aproned waiters, whose " Que prencz-tioiis
cc soir, mcs's/'-urs," is as French as a speech of
Coquelin ; and the menu or style which would
have pleased Vatcl himself; — are [ill si<7ns and
tokens by which the traveller may know that
he is in a place where gastronomy is looked
upon as a hue art, and where good eating is
cultivated as a science.
Truly, the stranger who steps trom the nar-
I- /•
54
THE XIGET RESTAURANT.
row and dimly-lighted street, ill reputed and
foul smelling, and fnids himself in the neat and
tasteful hall might indeed wonder if fancy is
not playing him a scurvy trick ; he will think
for an instant that perhaps the charming mo-
tion of the sleigh has lulled him into sleep, and
that he is dreaming of his petit surprise at
Paris.
The manager, the waiters, the setting of the
tal)le, the menu, and the suhdued air about the
place are l^arisian and Parisian only. It is a
restaurant de TAvenue de I'Opera transported
by magic to Montreal.
The visitor to Montreal who has not seen
Beau's and tasted its famous cooking has not
seen Montreal. Its natural beauties may have
been revealed, but here is the art that rivals
nature.
Some years ago, the building situated on
Vitrc street near St. Lawrence Main street
was occupied by one Cherel. It was tlum an
obscure eating-house, and its reputation was
far from savorv. Manv^ were the stories told
by the sporting element of Montreal of the
THE NIGHT EESTAUEANT.
55
scenes enacted after nightfall within its walls,
and it became a by-word and a reproach.
One night the end came. The local police
interfered and the proprietor was irrested.
Brought before the magistrate, he was com-
mitted for trial but released on bail. He in-
viteJ his immediate friends and patrons to a
banquet at the old spot. His acquittal seemed
to him a certainty.
Surely, never was such a scene of revelry by
night in Montreal. To the banquet came
courtesans of high and low degree, politicians
of every grade, men about town, merchants of
queer )e{)ute, divorced women and gay girls of
more or less note ; in short, tlie drenchings of
the city — the verv off-scourings of the metropo-
lis. At this Belshazzar's feast no hand-writing
appeared upon the wall, and Cherel and his
friends held iiiiili revel.
Tlie morrow came. Upon another and a
more serious charge than keeping a disorderly
house the infamous owner was convicted and
sentenced to the Penitentiary, and the once
famous "Cherel's" was closed, never to reopen
as such.
50
TKE in©HT RESTAOtAinP.
Some time later a change came over the
place. It was rebuilt and refurnished ; its
every evil association removed, and its doors
were thrown open to the gourmet, the bon-
vivant, and the lover of good living. Its evil
name disappeared with its former proprietors,
and to-day its reputation as an orderly and
well-kept restaurant is second to none.
It is now eleven o'clock at night ,* the thea-
tre has been over for half an hour, the prome-
naders upon the thoroughfares have almost
disappeared. Let us go in, have a little sup-
per— a petit soupcr, and look at this picture of
Montreal night-life.
The drive along the dark and narrow street
upon which the Occidental is situated does not
till the stranger with any hopes of comfort in
the immediate future. Who, he wonders,
would try to maintain an eating-house upon so
unfashionable and unfrequented a street. But
soon liis fears vanish.
Before him stands a substantial stone build-
ing whose lighted windows and opaque glass-
globes, illuminating each side of tiie entrance,
are strangely at variance with the squalid srr-
THE XI6T1T RT»:STArilA!rr.
•Y
roundings. He steps into the porch and
sounds the bell. The door is opened, and be-
fore him stands a short, black-bearded man.
He enters the passage, and a voice from up-
stairs, faint as a muffled bell, !s b^aid.
'* Mesdames et messieurs, descends." The
black-bearded man politely motions us into the
main room, the giand salon. The soft voice
the easy gesture is Parisian — this is unmistak-
able.
The door leadin«, to the passage Is closed be-
hind us and we looiv around.
At the nearest table sit two men. They also
are French, but their accent is not Parisian.
It smacks of tiie Faubourg de Quebec rather
than of the Faubourg St. Germain.
One, a short pock-marked man, with a ner-
vous and shifty look in his eye, does all the,
listening, now and then interjecting a remark.
His companion, stout and not '.11-looking. with
a heavy moustache and a pair of expressive
black eyes, is talking loud and long. Not-
withstanding the publicity of their position,
they make no effort to keep the subject of
their discussion from the by-s^^anders. To the
I
08
THE NIGUT RESTAURANT.
Frenchmen standing near by, such phrases as
"Trois aces" and "Deux Valets/' "Je perd"
and *' Je gagne," needed no explanation. They
were discussing some recent session of the
American national indoor game, draw-poker.
Everyone knew them. The little man was
by turns gambler, political worker, horse-
dealer, and anything else. The other was a
well-known figure in Montreal. Born of re-
spectable parents, well educated, and of more
than ordinary ability, he began life with every
chance in his favor, ikit, like many others,
his beginning was too high. He fell, and later
was content to live upon the profits of a gam-
bling house.
While the visitors are glancing over the
groups, and ere they have time to see the
other occupants, a rustle of skirts is heard.
The voices of women, one low and sweet, the
other harsh and discordant, falls upon the quiet
of the room. A man's strong tones, a closing
of doors and they are gone, and we are ushered
up-stairs.
Once up-stairs, we find ourselves facing two
passages at right angles to each other. Along
THE NIGHT RKSTAL'RANT.
69
1
each passage are rooms, and through the tran-
som over each door comes the gleam of gas-
hght and the low murmur of voices. But we
are not allowed to investigate further. The
polite waiter motions us.
" Ici, s'il vous plait."
We follow him into a small square room
with crimson-tinted walls and an air of neat-
ness and comfort, if not elegance, positively
charming. Upon the table, linen of finest
quality and snowiest texture ; silver whose pol-
ished surface reflects the gaslight as with a
hundred gleaming darts, and glassware of the
latest style. Surely this is Paris.
From the splendid menu we order a filet de
boeuf, petit pois, pommes de terre ci. la creme,
and cafe au lait. In a few minutes we are
served. The aroma of the coffee fills the room ;
the flagrant odor of the meat summons our
sluggish appetite. We eat, drink, and are
merry.
Here, and in such a place, mortals should
indeed be haj)py. Despise as we will the
art culinary, we must remember th t the ques-
tion as to "Where is the man who can live
60
THK K1»HT BESTAlTEA^n'.
\
without dining ?" is as yet unanswered. Wc
must bear in mind the saintly Thomas ^ Beck-
et who, when reproved for his fondness for
roast goose, declared that " so excellent a thing
was not made only for sinners." And, lastly,
we must not forget that " fate cannot harm
the man who has dined to-day."
Without the storm raged, and the driving
snow of the Canadian winter smote upon tiie
window-pane. Its invisible hands beat upon
the glass as if they would fix their cold clasp
upon our hearts ; but within all is sweetness
and light — no sorrow for yesterday, no fear for
to-morrow.
With curiosity truly feminine we wonder
whose voice is that we hear in soft accents
penetrating the walls which separate us from
our neighbors on cither hand. We long for
that Arabian spy-glass which s(,'es ihrough all
obstacles, and sets walls and distances at UcUight.
In fancy we conjure up the smiling face, the
gleaming teeth, and the fur-clad form whose
voice ever and anon reaches us in merry ca-
dence.
On the other side of us is wassail and high
THE SIGHT RESTAUniJCT.
61
revel. No sweet and feminine accents reach
us, but the English of cultivated Canadian
manhood. Once in a wliile the noise is
drowned in low and well-bred applause, and
the sentences are punctuated with suppressed
laughter.
In his review of "Robert Elsmcrc," Mr.
Gladstone has pointed out the license enjoyed
by the story-teller, the romancer, and the nov-
elist. He is not subject to ordinary rules of
time and space. He may record a conversa-
tion of two in an open field, where eaves-
dropping is impossible ; he may follow a beam
of subtlest reasoning in the mind of one of his
characters, even if the logic puts not on the
dress of words. Nay, he may even see into
the privacy of an apartment, and tell the story
of sighs, kisses, and tears by outside human
eye unseen.
May we not claim the same privilege ?"
Granted.
Then we will enter unseen the little supper-
room on our right, and view at our leisure its
two occupants.
At the table, before a half-fmished supper,
62
THK NIGHT BE8TAUEANT.
II
sit a young man and a young woman. The
man's age might be twenty-five or twenty-six.
He is tall, not bad-looking, and with that intan-
gible air of birth and breeding so Canadian and
so English. The neat clothing, the faultless
linen, all showed the gentleman, and his voice
was soft and pleading.
The young woman before him was assuredly
not of his own station in life. She was pretty,
with sweet, smiling eyes and white teeth, and
about her was a look of health. When the
eyes rested upon her they seemed to seek a
perfume of health and honesty which should
belong to so fine a creature. And yet, fcr all
her neat dress, her handsome face, and honest
eyes, there was something wanting. It was
the look of the spiritual — that inheritarce
from cultured ancestry which money cann )t
buy, and to which alone, in these degenerate
days, money pays tribute.
Their story was a simple one. The young
man, a partner through the accident of birth
in a wealthy manufacturing house, was a
devotee of the fair sex. For the ordinary
fcmvie galante he cares nothing; but for the
THB NIOHT nESTAT'EANT.
68
9b
free-lances of society, the privateers who sailed
under the colors of honesty and virtue and
whose sins were hut an excess of passion, and
who scorns the ways of sin, he sacrifices his
spare time and a little of his spare money. To
him, the pursuit and capture of some roving
cruiser is a {)rize W(jrth everything spent in the
chase. He was but a sample of a class well
known in Montreal.
The girl was another of an equally well-
known type. She wr)rked in a store on St.
CatiuMine Street, for, two years ago, her hus-
band had fled from their home in a small Cana-
dian town, and she was thrown upon the world
to fight the i)attlc of life alone. It did not
take a clever girl like herself long to fmd out
that in a large city like Montreal she need
never want amusement. Her employer, him-
self a married man. had taken a fancy to her,
but she soon wearied of him, and now she is
listening to the oft-told promises of the hand-
some young fellow before her.
In the large room upon the left eight young
men are seated, in various states of sobrietv.
Their social position is seen at a glance. They
1
64
THE IWOnT RRSTATJBANT.
are gentlemen born and bred, but, as in the
present instance, occasionally departinp^ from
the strict line of proper conduct. At the head
of the tal)le a youno: man, in appearances the
juvenile of the gathering, is addressing them.
As the clever words fall from his lips the listen-
ers are alternately amused and interested. The
bright expression completes the ensemble of
clear, honest eyes, oval face, and white, even
teeth. Decidedly, this ycung fellow is nice-
looking, and clever at that ; and yet a closer
look shows the want of continuity of purpose
— the man who can work well, and will work
sometimes, but who lacks the plodding, tireless
energy which, we are told, is but the higher
form of perseverance termed genius.
Who are his companions? The young man
occupying the seat directly opposite him at the
other end of the table is the son of a promi-
nent capitalist and railway magnate. On the
speaker's right is the last member of a wealthy
and famous Canadian family, whose name i"=;
known to every school-boy. On his 'ft a
rising young lawyer, a partner in a pr .ent
TIIK NHJllT KESTAIRANT.
65
firm, vvli()S<^ partners wuuKl have viewed his
present condition vvitii <>rave displeasure.
Again tlie wine-ghisses are filled. A younpf
Englishman, whose whist playing had set the
tcnvn talking, rose to his feet, and as his cleat
baritone began, "'Pis all I ask to be with thee,"
the clink of glasses and the whispering of
voices died away, fie was receivnig the high-
est compliiTRnt paid by any audience -worth
more tlian the loudest applause— deep silence.
He finished, and his health was drunk with
three times three.
Still further along the passage two men sit
together in a gas-h(\ated room atid talkial
earnestly. The grave, earnest face, the keen,
black eyes, and the hair worn longer than cus-
tomary could hv recognized at a glance. He
was one of the country's political leaders; a
seli-made man, risen from the ranksb\ sheer
force of ability and. the powers of a silver
tongue, lie was indied I'orateur ptU" excel-
lence, the representative I'rench-Canadian poli-
tician of the day.
But who is this ill-dressed and insignificant
man who listens as the other persuades ? What
It^
66
THTC NIGHT KESTAUBANT.
has this mean and ignoranl-Iooking person,
whose looks bespeak poverty of ideas as of
purse, to give for wliieh the other asks?
It is hut the old story of a deeeitful appear-
ance Behind the shallow, uninteresting coun-
tenance is ability and brains; in the ill-iitting
and unfashionable clothing of the minor per-
sonage is the man whose clever political arti-
cles are read throughout Lower Canada as a
second Gospel. His bitterness of invective,
his biting sarcasm, are feared and detested. It
is he who sup|)lies eitlier party, as it suits him,
with their weapons during the session. He is
the Vulcan who forges the thunderbolts for
the political chieftains of Canarja. 'ihe man
before him may be the head of a party, luit he
can become the neck. For him the ijame of
politics has few secrets, and lo-moriow morn-
ing the columns of L' litcnJard or L.a Minervc
will contain some unsigned article to becoTie a
power for good or ill.
For riches, position, or political power this
man cares no^hir \, Had they been his goal,
he would long before have arrived there. In
I
THE NIGHT RESTAITUANT.
67
vain the astute chieftain before him seeks a re-
sp
on
sive chord. Surelv there must be one.
Suddenly his face ilhimini-s. He leans for-
ward and whispers in the other's ear, so U)W
that liad the walls ears thev could know noth-
iiiir. A smile like that of Sat
m wi
th V
.lUst in
his arms shines upon his face, like the sun
upon new-li;)len snow. Wc jumps to his feet.
Both men flon their overcoat'; and hats, and
without another word they descend the stairs
and vanish into the night.
What shameful plot has here been hatched ?
what conlinence betrayed? Ali ! for the man
who scorns money and power there can be but
one inducement which others may offer — re-
venoe
'I
o-morrow morning some enemy s
na.ne will be [)illoried forever in disgrace, and
the price will have been paid.
We need go no furthei. It is the same
scene, and it will be to-morrow night —only the
actors will be ilifTereiit.
There are other niglit restaurants in Mon-
treal, some fair, but most of them unwortbx the
name. Nt)t far from the Occidental is an
eating-house for the lower classes, open all
68
THE SALOOX,
niL;l^^ whtre suspiciously cold and frothy tea
is served after twelve o'clock. There is the
I^alais Royal, on Dorciiester Street ; l.ouis, on
St. Catlurine Street ; and the Delmonico —
save the niaik. Bui of them little can now be
recortled hui ihe commonplace. Their pairo!is
are not liic l)(.tt(M' classes, and about them th<^
romance takes on the ci^arments of po\ erty,
and an occasional odor of onions and s>arlic.
CM VPTER VI.
THE SALUOX.
To manv of the readers the heiidini!^ of this
ch.iptn" iiiav sound offt^nsivc. It will brin^i^
wHh 11 till' odors of the corner gm-mill and the
low grog-shop.
To ihcm only this can be said : The head-
ing goes — popular or ot Iic-wise. it is the
onlv wo'd c(Mned whijh i'l'lly exf)resses the
contents of the ch;ipter. if the word sab ton
offends, whv then insert gin-mill or grog-shoj).
It matter^ not. The article itself retnains
unaltered.
TUE SALOON.
(39
But if inclined to pay deference to the views
of these ol)jectO)N, there is indeed another
heudinor, rnore brutal hut not less true, nul less
descriptive.
How would "The Curse of Montreal" do?
Inio what deptlis of specu.ation v/ould that
title lead us ! What intricate j)rol)lerns of po-
litical economy nri«j;hi we not discuss I Back
of the sin. tin: misery, the poverty, the- ruin —
social and moral— (jf flie mass of the fallen
stands the h^-ure of stronf>- drink.
True, the Oueen allows tiie trafhc. It is
licensed at so mucli per shop or saloon, and in
many cases the venders are honc;st. law-ahidintr
men. But what of the majorii) (j[ the saloons
in N[ontreal and elsewhert^ ?
They are hut j^laces where the adulterated
and injurious li(puds are retailed wholesale to
men, women, and children ; where the drurd<-
ard is niu-ie dumker. and (he ruin of the indi-
vidual i-> he^un and ended.
Men prate ol llu- niillcimium. li will come
on the dav when slronii" think is banished for-
ever.
Labor complains of insulTicient wages — of the
10
THE bALOOU.
daily increasing price of the necessaries of life
and the daily decreasing return for the day's
work. Let them all abandon theii support of
the saloon.
Capital complains that it can no longer find
investment which will return it fair interest.
Let it refuse to employ otlier than total ab-
stainers ; let it organize and establish coiTee-
houses, where thirst may be assuaged at a nom-
inal piici\
The day the saloon-keeper leaves the city —
nay, more : the day that the maimfacturer of
strong drink is {>rohibited, except under gov-
ernncnt supervision and for medicinal pur-
poses— that day prosperity will shine upon our
Canada with undying lustre.
A clever Frenchman summed the matter up
thus :
" [n earlier years there were two evils, wai
and pestilence. Wc are better off in this nine-
teenth century : we have only one evil — liquor."
And such an evil !
The mind shrinks from its contemplation.
There is no need to look farther for the sin,
the poverty, and the misery of civilization. It
t
THE fiALOON.
71
is here, and here only. From tliis parent
source all other evils spring.
With the one possible exception of Chicago,
no city in America suffers in this respect like
Montreal. She is sore stricken, and maybe
will never recover. The cursed traffic has its
grip upon the city's throat and is stilling it.
Its energy is being sapjied away, and the cure
must be used ere it is too late.
The po})ulation of Montreal and adjoining
municipalities is al>out two hundred thousand
souls. It has therefore a larger jKjpulation
than Buffalo, Cleveland. Detroit, Louisville,
Milwaukee, Pittsburg, or Washington, l^ut
what an admirable tliirsl its inhabitants can
boast of !
In 1887 there were nearly fourteen hundred
places —hotels, restaurants, grocery stores, and
saloons — where the retailing of li(iuor was
licensed. Think of it ! Fourteen hundred .
The figures stagger us.
This would mean that there is one saloon to
every one hundred and fifty inhabitants. De-
duct from this numbei \\\v women and chil-
12
THE K/VL(»OX.
drcn who may be claimed as non-supporters of
this noble institution, and what remains?
These fiirures stare us in the face. The
y
speak with an elo(|uenee whicli no man can fail
to unrlerstand. They tell us of man's daily
disobedience and his daily fall — of his progress
toward failure, poverty, and crime.
Some day Mcjiitrcal will awake and see this
cancer c-atinir her life awav. Mav that awaken-
inir not come too late !
There is no- saloon better known to the
sportifiii; friUernity throu,<i;hout the length and
l)readih of (.'ana<la tlian "The Suburbnn" on
Craig Street. There is no man so long ))efore
the public as u sport of evcrv kind, from running
a Hat wheel at a country fair to managing aiitv
mce-meeting. than its proprietor ; and it is also
safe to say that rmaneialiy no man stands better
before his own class than the famous owner.
I'\'W hav(,' hatl so varied a career. True, he is
on
ly
i(
a saloon
■keej
)er
but
ut- manv a starvinir
man who is on his feet to-dav can say that he
got a helping hand when down on his luck
from the neatlv dn s'^ed, hard-smoking owner
of the Suburban. All the chariiv in Montreal
THE SALOON.
78
is not to be IcLirned fioni the lists of donors
tu the hospitals published for the public eye.
Some kindnesses never see the light of pub-
licity. Many scenes of kindness have been
witnessed around the " Subuiban."
The frequenters of this place are a more
motley crew than FalstafT's famous followers.
All sorts and conditioj^s of men are to be seen
lierc. No sportini^ man of anvnote in Canada
or the Ignited States visits Montreal without
paying his respects here. Iloisemen, sporting
clerks, gamblers, all the waifs and strays upon
life's oc( an, have here anchored for a time, if
cruising in the vicinity. It is almost a glim|)se
of "ye olde-lime Boweiy saloon" in modern
Montreal. And yet against this place, evil as is
the traffic |)ursued, not a word can fairly be
said. The "isitor is not j>oisoned with bad
liquor, nor 'ostled by thii ves, nor can Ik* here
]>rocure li(ju )r alier hours. If ihe »>roprietor
cannot gu a ran tie the morals of liis patrons, he
at least guarantees their conduct while there.
One of the most familiar figures here is sit-
ting to-nigiit watchinga game of billiards. I lis
neat clothing, dark and quiet, his wliile and
H
THE SALOOJT.
tasteful linen, the absence of jewelry or dis-
play of anykind, and his modest, gentknianlv
hearin^^, to the casual observer would suggest
the eonhdential ckrk or junior partner in a law-
tirm. He would be entirely wrong. The calm,
repressed young man is a gambler, and one of
the best known in the country. Sometimes
called " Little Johnny" and sometimes " Jaok,"
he is familiar to most Montrealers, and his pop-
ularity is very great. It was rumored that last
summer he had played the Saratoga races in
more than ordinary luck, and that in '* going
up against the bank" his luck had not forsaken
him. Be that true or not, he is always in funds,
and seemingly always ha{)py. Should matters
run against him, his name is good to any
amount with the fraternity. "Jack" is one of
the characters of Montreal.
Next him stands a round-faced Englishman
with a hearty laugh and rough clothes. Ue is
the proprietor of an eating-house far away, and
has sporting asj)irations. So far he has been
lucky, and it has not cost him much.
On the right two prominent horse-dealers
talk and laugh loudly, and against the wall
1
TUB RALOOK.
15
•d couple of well-known " amateur" lacrosse
players discuss in an undertone the chances
for to-morrow's gri-at match.
" The Suburban" is in truth the rendezvous
for the Bohemians.
Of hardly less prominence in Montreal is
"The Oxford" on University Street. Situated
as it is in the immediate vicinity of the armory
of a fashionable volunieer regiment, it has
many times assuaged the thirst of the amateur
soldiers, and its place in Montreal is unique.
Founded a few years ago by its j)resent pro-
pi iet or with the inmicdiate help of a then j)rom-
inent litjuor merchant, it illustrates the whirli-
gig of time. To-day its owner, from being a
poor nran, is comparativi ly wealthy, the man
througli whose money the saloon was estab-
lished has failed and walks the streets of Mon-
treal under a cloud.
Hard!)' less famous than "The Oxford " is
"The ('aprains." Upon tlw.' corntM of two
small and comjuu'atively unfrctjuented streets,
its location would not usually be coiisidined of
the best, and yet, in sporting pari mce, "it is
a good and strong game." It has often been
I
76
IIIR BALOON.
rumored that " Tlic L/aplain's" was open year
in and year out, and that the earlier in the
morning you ealied the earlier you would get
served. This was a l)ase slander. Here the
homeward-l)ound elerk, aftt;r a night of extra
work, stops for a so(3tliing nightcaj) ; and iiere,
with a fuitive glance around, the hushand stops
on his morning trip into town for "a steadier.'
No description of Montreal would be com-
plete without a mention ol the "Turf f louse"
on St. Lawrence Main Street. Its genial and
handsome pioprictor is known to ev'Tyl)ody,
and has given his tiuK; and money to 'ho fur-
therance of the trotting interests of Montreal.
One of the principal supporteis of the race-
track at ilk' toot of Jacipies Ca tier Square,
and a lover of racing in every form, his name
is a guarantee of fair trottitig and no favor.
So fiu. it iiiust. i)f confessed tiie S(M\my side
of Montreal's saloons has not been shown.
So
far, we ha\'c dealt t)nlv with those places wliere
not only the letter l)ut tht: spirit of the law is
fieely followed, — where the vice has lost soirie-
thinf^ of its evil. W'c have dealt only with the
saloon evil in its minor form, with places whose
THE SALOON.
( /
[)roprictors are in every wnv hiw-iiltiilinfj and
consisteiit citi/cns, and we luive seen only the
best siile of the case.
There is another pietnre to Se drawn.
Some of the vilest, lowest, and most infa-
mous eorner frin-niills, low ,L!:rr)oi::f<'ries, and
sliehecns in the wc-rld are lieensi-d hy licr
Maj(.'Sty's government to ruin their fellow-men,
body and soul. In these places the diuukard's
money is never refused — the child is as wel-
come as the man.
These dens Mot the city's face. They aie a
shanii' and a dis<rracc. Tlu / must ^^o.
They lie alon^- the ri\er front where drunken
sailors, wharf-rats, and sunhsh carouse and
make merry. They can he found in the daik
and narrow streets lendinij^ ufi fiom I he river,
where di-;tilled poison and hKnvcd rum are
served out over dirty counters to dirtier men.
They cAi-^t in the \icinit\ of the 1\^•o <rreat rail-
way stations, and catrh the strans^cr's money
ere he has time to see a lodjj^in,i;-housc. Aloncc
' it. Paul Street ii!rt\' hotels are suMported on
ihc. jiroiits of their har^, and yan*nin<2^ steps
lead down to cellar dives — low as to the char-
78
THE RALOOir.
actDr of their patrons, and vile as to quality of
liquor sold.
But what of tlio unspeakable dens which,
viper-like, open ificir dinghy doors in the eastern
sul)Ui bs of the city, and in the Point St. Charles
district f What oi the abominable saloons
which thrive in the vicinitv of St. Constant,
St. Dominique, and St. Elizabeth Streets upon
the irnnvjral frequenters of the dens of infamy
in the neighborhood ? Many of them, open at
any hour, recall the worst days of New Vork
when the Empire, the Cremorne, and the Sans
Souci were in full blast. They see no hand-
some women, no silken gowns; only broken
down outcasts and cotton wraps. But the evil
is there just the same.
Have the inhabitants of these localities no
souls or bodies to save?
Weary and heart-sick, we must turn from
this sul)ject. It is with sorrow that we bep;an
it, it is without regret that our task is over.
In the presence of the liquor evil the legisla-
tors are powerless. The power is vested in
the local authorities, and they, like Cassius, arc-
1
TQ£ HOI AK OF MEMHAIJNA.
V9
reputed to have " the itching palm." Therein
lies the secret.
It may be tliat the rcfr)rm will begin some
day by having as local legislators and commis-
sioners only men whose position and record
place them above suspicion. Then, if the
curse of strong drink cannot be entirely sup-
pressed, it can be regulated.
Let us ha.ste the dav.
CHAPTER VII.
THE HOUSE OF MESSALINA.
With sad heart and faltering hand the head-
ing of this chapter is penned. With many
readers, this is no doubt ex|)ected to be a sala-
cious HKjrsel, which they will roll under their
tongues, and read fu.dvely in the recesses of
their bedrooms.
They will be disappointed. No subject is
easier done justice to in a su])erricial way — •
none requires deeper thought. We cannot,
from lack of experience and ai)ility do full jus-
tice ; but we will not treat it lightly.
80
TUE HOUSE oK MKSSALINA.
In New \'<)ik, Chicago, San I'Vnncisco, and
IIk' larger ciiicsof the IJnitc.HJ Stales hDoks have
hecn published hearinir titles similar in some
respects to the tiiU; ol this work. We have
had " i^aris l)v (iasli<»ht," *' New \'ork hefore
Dawn,"' "Tl>e Nij^liL Side of New N'ork."
"Low London Liie," iUid a thousand other
names to catch tlie eye of unexperienced
youtii. These hooks have a re id\' sale. They
circulate |)\- lens (>f thousands, and many
a younfj uiil has dated her hrst step in sin from
the day when she lirst n.-ad tlie lecheious and
glatin<:ly unliue [)ages of "The (}ay Ciirls
of Nevv ^'ork.'" or some similar mc^s of <;ar-
bage. '1 lu;<(' otlVcnurinus of deceased inind.s, —
paintino, as Ihev do, a lii^ht side lo c\'\ livinjj,
have enticed manv weak ones from the j)ath of
virtue to wa'.k th'^ slipp( i\- road t ruin. Of
the dark and seamv sid<\ I he jio^'ert\ inevit-
able, the health sure failing, and the mental and
bodily destruction ilit y aie sileiii
The social e\ il always bus bf t-n. and aKvavs
will l)e, ; problem who-e solution in theory i
casv, but whose solution in piaeticc is impo.-
sible. Men are burn with certain trails of the
TnK noURE OP MESSAI.IXA.
81
animal in tlicm. Mr. Ed^ar Saltus calls it
" The beast thai is in us all. lashed down and
cowering, but waifinj^ for the inadvertent mo-
ment when it shall spring to li^ht and claim its
own,"
Since earliest dawn, it ha> been a check to
man's upward, spiritual, and mental progress.
The law and tlie prophets denounced it; the
Messiah preached a<j;ainst ii; it entered into the
visions of John, and formed part of the Revela-
tion of that famous dreamei.
Ancient Rome n'ort^anized it, modern Lon-
don teems with it, New \'ork lomances upon
it, and Paris le^ali/es it.
What does Montred do? It lejj^islates
against the social t\il. Hut the law is a (U-ad
hotter. It is s(;ldom put into i>ractice, and to-
day in Montreal the vile t-afl'ic is jMcsented in
twenty different dins, and has been " doing
business at the samr *<fand" for ten years.
Fron present appearances, they will e(»ntiniie
unmolested, save bv ni occasional line, foi
twenty years more.
These houses are known to tveiy pojicemar*
and detective oflker upon the local force. At
83
Till: HOUSE OF MKSS.VMVA.
night, in front, of their doors, can often he seen
a half u tiozen carriages waiting while the late
occupants carouse within.
The question now arises. Is this cc^mpromise
with vice rigi>t ?
No! decidedly no !
Sliould this unlicensed, unlawful traffic be
permitted ?
No !
The middle grc und taken by the authorities
of Montreal with regard to this (juestion is il-
logical and indefensible in law, in reason, and
in mora
lit
It is admittedly an evil. Then it should not
be permit ted. It should be driven from with-
out the cii\ walls, and the scarlet woman should
no longer air her shame and her in lam v upon
our streets, noi destroy the (juiet of res()ectable
neighl)orhoods.
Gran: -hI it is aji evil, say some, but it is a
necessary evil : it must exist ; and as it must,
it is better that its headqua»*ter*^ should be
known tt> the local ()olice, for in that way alone
can it be kept under control."
If this be true, then it is better to license the
THE HOrSK OF MESSALINA.
Rn
,1^
traffic : better to suy, as President Cleveland
did upon the ()uesli()n of tiusts, "It is a condi-
tion \hieh confronts us, not a theory." It can-
not be denied that in puie tlieory the lieensin<;
of any immorality is coniiary to law. reason,
and of course, moralitv ; l)Lit when our youn^
men are driftinj^ toward ruin, it is no time for
theory- -action is necessary. 'Ihe lieeusinjj;^ cf
the "Ciros Numeros" in Paris has not dimin.
ishcd the immoialiiy. but it has ver)' materially
fiiitigated its evil consv qu«'nees from a plrv -^i-
cal, and therefore from a political j)oint of
view. Tlu' Parisian has btcome healthier, a<Td
therefore a better citizen.
But in Montreal the evil consequences of
the tralTic arc seen at their darkest. In tfiis
respect it is certain that no city is so cursed as
that which sleeps in metonlit beautvat the foot
of Mount Roval.
If you nvcd proof, go ask the physicians of
the city.
In cold blootV each year, a report is made to
-police hcad(|ua ters that there are so many
houses of evd repute within the city limits, and
so manv inmates of these houses. The number
84
Tm-.' HOIRK OP MKHSAI.TXA.
varies. It has been as high as eighty ; it has
fallen as low as forty. Last rej)ort made an
indefinite statement somewhere in the neigh-
borhood of "forty-nine." This of course re-
fers to well-known, established, so to speak,
houses whose inmates are permanent boarders
numbering three or more. It does not include
the countless smaller places where working
girls go at night to add to their insufficient
and starvation-breeding wages, nor does it in-
clude the numberless houses of assignation. Ft
isonlv tlie best known and " wide open" houses.
Take the number of castles in Montreal as
fifty— the minimum. It is well known that
such houses are compelh.'il by bloodsucking
and greedy landlords to pay enormous rent as
" hush-money." Take the average rent as $600
per annum : it makes $30,000. Allow each such
|)lace five persons -a minimum- -and we would
have two hundred and fifty persons. It costs
each one of these an average of $600 per
annum to live. This gives $i5o,ocx.").
'I'he grand result is that in Montreal -sanc-
tioned, connived at, fjr winked at by the police
— nearly two hundred thousand dollars is
THE HOUSE OV MErtSAI.INA.
95
diverted from lawful uses to the support of
imnioraliiv.
This is but atrifie— a drn|i in ihe sea. These
figures, sta'iling as they are, do not ref)resent
the case in anythiuj^ like its hideous truth.
Any well-known dt;teetive in Montreal will
lead you by night t ■ one luindred such moral
lazar-houses — will show vuu one thousand
women living in shame u))on the wages of sin,
and ihen ask if vou want to see more.
And yet this is a Chri aian country. Sunday
after Sunday the Moi.lrealer goes to church
and thanks God that he is not as other men
aic. He reads — and, worse, his family of young
girls and boys road — th(^ details of some sad
cases of imm(»ral!tv in New V'urk, London,
and Paris, and he is thankful tliat he does not
livi in any such S(»dom ami Ciomorrah. He
travels and sees the painted creiitures of the
Suand, the pronunaders upiui the I'aiis liouU-
vards. and the street-walkers nf Third or Sixth
Avenue, tnd he rejoic.'s thai h«. l>elongs to a
'titer and ir.ore moral city.
Nay. fimniest of all. lie is called upon from
the puijMt to subscribe h> the Chine'-e or Hin-
■ ■«m:-mmf:^''m
86
lUE IlOUSii OF MESSALINA.
doo missionary fund, when an immorality so
flagrant is at his door, and a depth of ignorance
and vice as profound as is conceivable is in his
own city.
In the words of Mark Antony, ** Men have
lost their reason."
Oh for time and opportunity to press this
subject and to suggest a remedy ! If we can
even stir the stagnant waters of Montreal
thought for one short tiny, this book has not
been written in vain.
A few facts in this case. Upon the corner
of St. Catherine and one of its most notorious
cross streets stands a three-story stone building.
The corner l)asement is occupied as a restaurant,
but two doors of the cross street give entrance
to the house, and a wooden door leads from a
yard in rear into St. C-atherine Street. The
appearance of the house is entirely respectalde,
and in justice it must l)e said that the esLab-
lishnu'ut is run honestly, and no svvintUing uf
any kind is permitted.
Almost sine*' "the recollection of the oldest
inhabitant" the occui)atioii of this notorious
spot has been the same I' or years in this
THE IIOUHU OF ME8.SA.LINA.
87
!
house Messalina and IMiryne have i»licd their
shameful trade. It is true that on several
occasions the local j)olice have lined its land-
lady the sum of ninety-five dcjliars and costs
for selling liciiior without a license, and the
fine has been cheerfully paid. This sort of
"hush-money" transaction seems popula? in
official circles, and whenever the civic treasury
is low a raid is made up(jn some of the best
known houses, and they are called upon to pay
toll. It IS pay up or close up. The former
course is invariably followed.
T'oi many years this house was owned and
run by a notorious woman alleged to be the wife
of a more or less promii\ent gambler, whose es-
tablishment, not a hundred miles from Craig
Stieet, will be noticed later. The house> furni-
ture, and good-will of the business are now sub-
let to another wonuin. at the trilling rental of
seventy-five dollars per week. Wfien an estab-
lishmcJit of this kind can pay a rent of thirty-
six hundrt;d dollars j>er .inuuni and have the
lessee wear diamonds, tlu: business must indeeil
be valuable.
Scarcely less notorious than the preceding
88
TlIK nOFSE OF MFSSAMKA.
is the estabHslimcnt situated near the rear of
' St. Lawrence Market. It is ostensibly owned
by a namesake of th(i owner of the house above
described, and, while not as hirge, is still consid-
ered "a valuable property." Its red curtains,
and the line of cabs which nightly draw up in
front of the door after ten o'clock, are familiar
to policeman and citi/en alike ; but it has reigned
undisturbed for years past, and there seems no
imm(Kliate prospect of any change.
Immediately around the corner, on a dirty
and narrow lane, stands another establishment
of a similar profession. A few years ago this
place started with four rooms : it now occupies
a large house. Under immunity from police
intcrferiMice such dives (lourish.
Threading our way along this Little Queer
Street, and turning the first corner, a large
porch, a colored globe, and startling (^cru cur-
tains meet the eye, and sound'- of singing and
piano-playing strike the ear in unharmonious
power.
" Surely," says the stranger, " I am dreaming,
or have been, and 1 am back in Thirty-first
Street."
TTIE IIOUSB OP MRSSALINA.
80
Nothing is wanting to complete the picture.
The garish lights, the open porch, the music,
all unhlushingly invite the wanderer out of the
cold dark, streets into the light. Within the
usual sights and sounds —they need no telling.
To investigate further we need not go far.
Next door has no open porch, no colored lights,
but instead a darkness and quiet not at all re-
assuring. A ring at thr hell, and tlic usual
wicket is opened and the same catechism is gone
thrctugh.
Upon St. Elizabeth Street, not far from St.
Catherine Street, is another such spot —viler
than its fellows. Of the unspeakable infamies
of this place, prudence commands to silence.
Up St. Constant Street the temf)les of sin are
in rows. One hardly less unfavorably known
than any above described staiids in a yard l)ack
from the street. It is approached by a narrow
board walk, and its ervironments arc. not cal-
culated to cheer the seeker after illicit pleasure.
There is neither space nor necessity to pursue
our investigations farther. It would serve no
good purpose to lead the stranger along the
narrow and ill-smelling streets in this (juaiter.
1
90
lilK UwmK OV M£8frilLINA«
Saiigainet StPjct.VitiL^ Street, Mignonnc Street,
and twenty other St ret;ts in lliis KuMlity eoiil.rib-
ute their sihire to the calendai ui crime.
It is not the East Rml alone which suiters.
For four years a h<iuse on Aijucduct Street was
notoriously a subject for coinplaint on the part
of the neiiihhors. It was strange indeed that
this quarter, one of the '(uietest in the city,
siiouUl be compelled to submit to such associa-
tions, bu. (he providential interference of the
Canadian Pacilie Railway, wliicli claimed the
ground upon which this jMoperty stood, and
destroyed it, caused a removal. 'Ihe keeper
transfcned hersell and her stock-in-trade to St.
I'rban Street, and in a splendidly furnished
liouse whose re: r oralleries overloctk Dntferin
Sijuart; she pursues unmolested her j^roliiable
calling.
St. Antonie Street, staid and respectable, was
also invaded Ity the " ho; 1/ontales," but. their
sojomii was brii.'f.
To-day almost within a stone's-throw of the
Windsor Hotel is a bagnio of whose existence
few are aware. The visitors are few and (piiet ;
no lights gleam through its closely-drawn cur-
THE HOUSE OF MJiSSAI.LNA.
91
tains; no carriap^cs halt at oi^ht in front of its
door. Its entire appearance is eminently re-
spec
tal)l<
JUit careful reci^nnaissance of the fence sur-
rounilin*^ it and facinj^ Uj)on an unv}ccu|)ied
plot of ground would reveal a cunningly con-
cealed gate. Opened, a passage is before you
and you are swallowed u|) from the sight of the
outside \V(jrld.
This place is an echo of Forty-first Street
and " The Studio." Rich hut tastefully chosen
furniture t)rnanient'" the rooms, delicate per-
fumes Ml the air. and an atmosphere of re-
fmcnient is about us. Mere is danger— here is
vice not less vicious because alluring and
scented. It is only more pleasant.
The demi-fnonde of Montreal is the olT-
scourings of New V(^rk and Chicago and the
drenchings from our own gutters. Most of its
component parts are diunkcji. uneducated, and
low-b(jin. In most, cases they have not even
physical attraction to plead their sad case.
There is no glamour to be cast upon this side of
Montreal life. It is vile and repuKive to any
IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)
V
/
//
A
O
,<" m.
%
C/j
<?
&?-
^
A
1.0
I.I
1.25
^^- IIIM IlilM
.^5. 11102
u' ilM
— 6"
2.2
2.0
mm
1-4 IIIIII.6
V]
<^
/}.
VI
^1*
^/:
7
>^
Photographic
Sciences
Corporation
(V
V
%
V
^
\
\
>>
A
o"^
^^
%
V
^
\^
23 WEST MAIN STREET
WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580
(716) 872-4503
^
&?
WJ-
^.
^
92
THE HOUSE OF MES8AXINA.
one with feelings or culture. It holds out no
attraction to the hetter class of young men.
But the middle class must be considered.
Only rarely would they enter such places, ex-
cept when under the influence of the enemy
which steals away men's brains ; but even to
enter once is once too many. These houses
are a meeting-ground and a refuge for the low,
the idle, the vicious, and the drunken. They
have existed too long, aid should be done
away with now and forever.
VV^e have refrained from writing of the lower
end of the city and the awful vice which exists
there. We would fain ask the inquiring ^ lon-
trealer to come with us down Wolfe or Jacques
Cartier Street even on a Sunday afternoon.
The denizens of this district do not ask the
mantle of night to shelter them. In broad
daylight they ply their hideous calling. With
painted faces they beckon from ground-floor
windows, and with liquor-hoarse voices they at-
tract the attention of the passer-by. Old
Greene Street, in New York, at its worst pre-
sented no viler sight than these streets in Mon-
treal to-day.
liiiiiiiiiii^
THE HOUSE OP MESSALTNA.
93
Horrible, horrible, most horrible ! This is
no overdrawn picture to be read by the evil-
minded and the evil hearted. It is a sad state-
ment of facts. The localities are given. Seek
for yourselves, and you will receive a lesson
upon " the sinfulness of sin" as powerful as a
Spurgeon sermon.
We might write of the low hotels and lodg-
ing-houses on St. Paul Street near the Bonse-
cours Market and around the two great sta-
tions. Such hotels have time and again been
raided as "disorderly houses" by the city po-
lice. Fancy a hotel licensed by the city, and
then raided, and then resuming business !
If we have drawn the attention of one ener-
getic, honest citizen to this sad state of affairs,
good must follow as the night the day. If we
have warned some headstrong youth from the
sin which kills, good has been done. We ask
no higher reward than this.
The facts and figures given here speak for
themselves. Our city rulers should be up and
doing to purge our city from this moral and
physical grossness.
What say you ?
m
04
THE HOBS SHOE.
CHAPTER VIII.
"THE HORSESHOE.
»
The New York of ten years ago held no
stranger sight, no spot more interesting in cer-
tain respects than the quaint old building which
stood at the corner of Houston and Crosby
Streets. Its interior has seen many dramas.
In many ways, and for divers reasons, *' Harry
Hill's" was a land-mark. The visitor to the city,
before being taken out to " see the sights," was
always asked " Shall we go to Harry Hill's?"
Within its walls, from early afternoon until
early morning, was gathered as motley a crew
as ever the eye of man rested upon. The
most dangerous and desperate criminals met
here and planned new villainies. The scum of
the female sex of lower New York assembled
themselves together in this place. Men and
women who had done time, who were wanted
by the police of London, Paris, and V^ienna,
swaggered about and aired their rough ways
jiiitiiiiliiiyii^^
n
THE HOBSESHOE.
95
before the visitor. Upon the walls, the famous
verse beginning " Gentlemen, sit at your
ease ;" at the tables, women who were beyond
suspicion ; at the bar and in the billiard-room,
men of every class. It indeed deserved the
name of " Free and Easy."
But alas ! one fine day a cruel-hearted and
inflexible mayor issued his famous proclama-
tion : "The dives must go." And Harry Hill's
went the way which the Cremorne, the Empire,
and other shady resorts had trodden before.
They will be more or less lamented but not
forgotten, and they can well be spared.
To-day the space formerly occupied by Har-
ry Hill's is a scene of busiest toil, and ere long
a massive warehouse will rise upon its site.
Montreal as yet boasts no ** Free and Easy "
of the Harry Hill class. There are no concert
halls where immoral women lie in wait for
vicious men, — little better than houses of as-
signation. Montreal will allow vice to any ex-
tent, but it must not offend the public eye. It
may ply its sad vocation in dark streets and
behind closed doors, but it must not walk in
the light of publicity. The festering slums of
96
TOE HORSESHOE.
mW'
the Faubourg in Quebec may exist, but the
man who would try to run a well-ordered beer-
garden in a respectable quarter of the city would
have a thorny road to travel.
The nearest approach to the American " Free
and Easy" in Montreal is Tommy Boyle's fa-
mous Horseshoe on St. Sulpice Street, It is,
however, but a feeble imitation. True, there
is " beer and music," which Puritan New York
has prohibited ; the sound of song and dance
is heard within its walls, and some of the at-
tendants are in female attire: but here the re-
semblance ends.
At " The Horseshoe" there are no women
patrons, no female performers upon the stage,
and few, if any, crooks In the audience.
Upon a dimly-lighted street, and within the
shadow of the noble parish church of Notre
Dame de Montreal, stands the Horseshoe.
St. Sulpice Street runs from Notre Dame
Street for a quarter of a mile down to the river
front, and its buildings are devoted to commerce
and the pursuits which enrich sailing-men.
Tommy Boyle's is the exception.
Leaving the Windsor we stroll along Dor-
•^^.^mm^^^m^-'
mmmmmmmmmmm
TUB HORSESHOE.
07
Chester Street, and the eye is arrested by the
magnificent dome of St. Peter's Cathedral ris-
ing heavenward in the soft summer moonlight.
Truly it is even now, in its uncompleted state, a
noble and a picturesque sight.
Still following Dorchester Street, past the
St. James' Club and the fine residences on
either side, we find ourselves at» the head of
Beaver Hall Hill. Glancing downward, the
lights of the lov/er city gleam and twinkle like
a thousand stars, and speak to us of a busy,
ever-toiling world.
Descending the hill, we pass through Vic-
toria Square with its massive warehouses, and
the electric lights oi St. James Street gleam
before us. It is nine o'clock, and but few per-
sons walk its quiet length, and we reach Place
d'Armcs Square.
Upon the magnificent edifice which arrests
and holds our attention we cannot devote
much space. Had we a volume to spare, it
would give no idea of its imposing entrance.
Its solid walls, and its heaven -kissing towers.
We long for the deep tones of its famous bell,
08
THS UOBSESUOS.
and we seek to imagine its appearance when
illuminated upon a festival night.
Regretfully we turn down the dark and nar-
row street which sleeps in its shadow, and
follow its quiet length until the sound of the
slowly-gliding St. Lawrence River reaches our
ears, and we breathe with deep draughts the
fresh and health-laden breezes which pene-
trate even here.
Before an open door, which reveals a flight
of steps, stands a huge colored gaslight.
Upon its colored glass can be traced in many
different styles the words :
THE HORSESHOE
Tommy Boyle.
And upon it are colored horseshoes such as Joe
Murphy surely never made in any performance
of " The Kerry Gow " on record.
Before entering through this hospitably
open, if uninviting, door we pause. Down the
stairs stagger two men, whose garb proclaims
the seafaring man, and they are standing alter-
nately to starboard and to port. This irregular
course occasions us some misgivings as to the
• i
THE H0B9ESH0B.
90
>
point to be taken by ourselves. - It is worse
than two steamboats in a canal.
- Bill."
"Aye, lad."
" Canst tell the way to the ship ? "
" Naw, lad ; can thou ?"
" Maybe if 'twas daylight; but this gas, it
'urt's in' eyes."
" Naw, lad, 'tis the hoose which troubles
thee."
A muttered oath, and the two men clinch
and roll to the bottom of the steps. The fall
sobers them a trifle, and they **make " for the
riverside.
Thanking our stars for our caution in waiting
till the track was clear before ascending, we
set foot upon the lowest step.
The sound of a voice roaring out a song to
the monotonous thumping of a piano which,
at this distance, sounds like the combination of
a fog-horn and the noise of a ships screw,
greets our ears. Floating down the stairway,
in occasional gusts, like driving snow, comes
an odor which once smelt is never forgotten :
it is beer.
il
100
TOE HORSESIIOE.
It may be this latest odor, or the thought
that having gone thus far we should push on
to the bitter end, that compels us to ascend
the short flight of steps; a turn to the right,
and the bar is before us.
Before us stands a long counter, and behind
it a strongly-built but agile-looking man at-
tends to what seems a rushing business. The
man is an ex-prize-Iighter of no little ability
and undoubted courage, who, had he attended
to the job for vvhicii i.ature seems to have
built him, would surelv have risen to eminence
in the ranks of the middle-weights.
P'rom the air of secrecy which surrounds the
manners of the two flashily-dressed men who
whisper to him during his every spare minute,
it would appear that there is mischief in the
air. The feud between the ex-Ouebccker and
another pugilist now in the city is at its
hei<rht, and many are the rumors around of a
settled meeting and "a merry mill."
At the far end of the bar is a desk labelled
" cashier ; " behind it sits a youth of hardly
twelve years, who seems at home and at ease,
THE lIORSESnOE.
101
and who makes chan(?-c with a confidence and
certainly horn of lon^ praticc.
This is a son of the proprietor, and a 3'outh
wliose clever dancing liad called the aristo-
cratic patrons of a recent amateur minstrel en-
tertainmenc to their feet and made the Acad-
emy of Music ring with wild applause.
Standing in a corner, and that being noisily
with a group of men whose aj)pearance and
dress was rather out of character with their sur-
roundings, is the })roprietor. Ue is a short,
slim man, with a merry face and a jolly twinkle
in his eye, which a sore arm carried in a sling
cannot entirely banish.
The famous owner has three hobbies — his
boy's dancing, the pugilistic abilities of his bar-
tender and his assistant, a slim but muscular
lad whoH' he addressed as " Fitz," and his re-
puted " neara("ss" in money matters. lie
seems to be discussing matters fistic ; for now
and then he points to the men behind the bar,
and his voice drops.
The two men to whom he speaks are well
known. One, the taller, is a gambler on a
small scale, and calls himself an " all-around
102
TBB BOBSESnOB.
sport," to the amusement of his acquaintances.
He had gained some notorie*;y as a backer of
pugilists and pedestrians, but of late both pugs
and peds had flown wide of this city, and the
noble sport lagged. His companion was a
foot-runner of more than local fame, who lis-
tened as the other talked.
" Well, is it a go ?"
" Yes," responded Boyle.
"I'll be here to-morrow night," returned the
other, in a voice whose Milesian accents were
unmistakable ; and he walked quickly to the
door and, with his companion, disappeared.
The thumping on the piano h?d ceased, the
foghorn-voiced no longer pierced our ears, and
above the clink of glasses can be heard scraps
of conversation :
"Middle-weight, and a good 'un."
" To-morrow, at five."
- I say I did."
" Isn't she just—"
- Bill, it's six bells."
Let us escape from this room and enter the
" concert-hall."
Seated on tables, chairs, benches, and even on
1
^ip
THE BORSEAIIOE.
108
the tioor, a hundred or more men are crowded
together in an atmo.^phere redolent of stale
beer and vile tobacco-smoke. Surely they
must be salamanders, and used to fire, to stand
this long. Only a stoker on an ocean steam-
ship would live through an hour of it, it seems
to us, and yet all hands are orderly and happy.
The place, for all its vile odor? of liqu '' and
tobacco, is neat and clean, and drunken men
are not in sight.
At the far end of the "hall," a platfor n is
raised a coupl'^ cf feet above the level of the
floor and in full sight of all hands. A young
man has just finished a jig, and the applause
which greeted his efforts was loud and long.
The master of ceremonies — on this occasion
the proprietor himself — steps forward and an-
nounces:
" Mr. Wilson will oblige with a song. He's
a good 'un — give him a hand, everybody."
He leads the applause himself, and the land-
lubbers and sailors present follow with vim.
A young man with smooth, greasy locks
about which there is just the faintest sugges-
tion of salad oil, and a close-fitting frock coat
m
104
THB H0BSE8H0K.
arises from somewhere in the middle of the
crowd, and way is made for him. The " gen-
tleman at the piano" takes an exercise canter
over the keys, and a finish fight between piano
and singer begins. After a brief struggle, during
which we have been possessed of the idea that
the man has been warbling " White Wings,"
the piano subsides; the volunteer "talent"
bows to the storm of applause, and his place is
taken by a " song and dance artist."
We partake of some fairly good beer at the
hands of a black-eyed vestal, who attends to
our side of the room, and we take our leave
over "The Horseshoe," and wend our way
homeward to "think it over."
It is not for us to question the advisability
of licensing such places as "The Horseshoe."
It is true they are not of a high moral tone
nor are they calculated to elevate the standard
of social morality in the community ; but at
least something can be said in their favor.
Here the sailor and the wharf-hand is better off
than if prowling the streets at the mercy of
land-sharks male and female. He is not poi-
goned with vile liquor, but he can take his beer
mmmfmmm^mirmps^.
im^..
JOE BEEFS.
lOd
and smoke his pipe in peace at little cost. If
there were no " Morseslioc," he might spend
his money and ruin his iiealth in some low
drinking-dcn along tlie river-front, or become
ihe |jrey of some vile lodging-house keeper or
female Harpy.
In short, it is not well but it might be worse.
CHAPTER IX.
JOE BEEFS.
The travelled pilgrim, whose Mecca is Mon-
treal, when he arrives at that beautiful city
usually inquires for the sights of the city.
The impression made upon him by guide-
books, by friends, and last of all by his own
powers of observation wdiile driving up to his
hotel, convince him that he has not pitched his
tent in the bankrupt land of desolation so un-
truthfully portrayed in Amer c ui annexation
sheets of The I For M str\pe.
Far from it. When he has visited our
ji^w^w^rM
"•■v.,
106
JOS BEEF'S.
bridges, our churches, our residences, our busi-
ness streets, our factories and, finest of all, when
he has stood upon Mount Royal and seen the
fair city nestling between himself and the
majestic St. Lawrence, he is tempted to ask
himself :
" Is this one of the cities forming part of a
ruined and bankrupt country, being rapidly
depopulated by the defection of starving, unem-
ployed labor, and deserted by capitalists as an
unpromising and barren field ? Can these sturdy
business men, these dignified matrons, these
strong and hardy young men, and these rosy-
cheeked and handsome girls with health and
intelligence written upon their faces — can these
be the same people of whom I have lately read
that they are starving inhabitants of a frost-
bound and barren country, even now tottering
upon the verge of dissolution political and
social ? Are these massive warehouses filled
with merchandise, these busy factories, these
splendidly equipped railways but phantoms of
my idle brain ? Are these houses on Sher-
brooke and Dorchester Streets, these stone
mansions which remind me of London, are they
h
1
JOB beef's.
107
but tenanted by the caretakers, the families
themselves having emigrated some months ago
to Fall River and Haverhill ?
After seeking around in vain for the ivy
which should be climbing over our buildings
public and private, in testimony of their ruin,
and after a weary search for the moss which
should be growing over our railway tracks and
public highways, the idea dawns upon the
traveller, if he be an American and possessed
of the average American ability, that the re-
ports of Canada in the American papers are
not strictly correct.
If he inquires a little further, he will be satis-
fied that the statements in his enterprising coun-
try's sensation-loving journals should be credited
to the Father of Lies.
If he be inclined to mercy, he may think that
the reports of Canada's ruin are somewhat like
the account of the hanging of the Chicago
Anarchists in a notoriously unreliable, if suc-
cessful, New York daily — ihj story is a trifle
previous.
Having satisfied himself as well as possible
by all outward and visible signs that Montreal,
108
jox beef's.
at least, is not drifting without rudder or sails,
with neither master nor crew upon the sea of
ruin, he proceeds to satisfy himself that for tlie
stranger it possesses sights of interest in no
way inferior to any cities of the New World.
Well, he has driven upon our Mountain Park
road, he has seen our observatory ; he has
tested our water-supply system and our Cana-
dian whiskey supply ; in one of our splendid
hired carriages he has rolled along Shcrbrooke
Street — our local Fifth Avenue; muI he has fully
understood tiie pride which the IMontrealer
feels in the magnificent residences of his city.
Me has seen thirty brawny Canucks in a hand-
tc-hand struffs^lc at a c^ame called football in a
manner truly E^ritish ; and on Sunday he has
met the voutb and beauty of the city taking its
afternoon airing upon Sherbrooke Street.
Upon him steals the idea that, after all, Canada
may be a country of fair women and brave men ;
and if he be a poet he is likely tt) ask,
"Where is the man who would not dare
To figlit for such a land."
But if perchance he has no poetry in him, but
JOK beep's.
109
inclined to hard and unpoetic thoughts, he may
say,
" I have seen all these things before : hand-
some residences, splendid railroads, busy fac-
tories, sturdy young men, and pretty girls,
these are daylight sights in every city. Show
me something which will be hard to duplicate
elsewhere."
If it is winter, he might be taken to the moun-
tain-top and shown the city in moonlit beauty
below. lie could not equal that on earth.
Or if it is Carnival week, he might be
taken to witness the fancy drive, the Victoria
Rink Carnival. Where could he reproduce
these ?
If he still seeks for novelty, let him stand be-
fore the illumined glories of the Ice Palace.
Even if he be as American as George Washing-
ton or Jim Blaine, he will confess that at last
his eyes have rested upon a sight which never
palls ; which grows in beauty and brings to
him ihouu'hts of another world, and which even
his great and glorious country cannot equal.
He has feasted his vision upon the' sublime;
he will now laugh at the ridiculous.
110
JOB BEEF S.
It is certain that if he remains in Montreal
long enough he will be asked,
•* Have you seen Joe Beefs?"
The visitor naturally asks,
"What is Joe Beefs?"
The smile of triumph comes into the eyes of
the resident. He h is found something which
in all likelihood the American has never seen
before.
*' It cannot be described, mon cousin Amer-
icain ; it must be seen."
And so it comes about that one fine night
the visitor, armed to the teeth, and his guide
meet at a leading hotel and point for the river's
bank.
The trip begins.
There is no terror in the sight of the well-
lighted and still busy streets of the business
portion of the city, and as the American walks
St. James' Street his grip upon his "shooting-
iron" relaxes perceptibly, and he smiles to
himself at his former fears.
But a turn to the left, a few paces down a
narrow and dimly-h'ghted street, and his doubts
return. There is a quiet about the neighbor-
1
JOK BBBF'S.
Ill
hood which sets his nerves on tension ; about
some of the buildings on either hand there is an
air of physical decay not at all reassuring.
His grip upon his revolver tightens, and he
blesses his foresight.
A few steps more and the St. Lawrence,
grand and stately, rolls on toward the sea. Far
across on the opposite is the gleam of village
lights, and in front the electric light marks the
magnificent wharf frontage far, almost, as the
line of vision, until far away down the river
they seem like stars of the summer night.
Behind him he has left the roar of a great
city, the murmur of its many tongues, the
noise of its numerous feet. Above him, to left
and to right, tower mighty warehouses, and in
front a countless throng of men, like swarming
bees, toil under the searching rays of the white
light. His ear is assailed by shouting of busy
overseers, by noise of restless donkey-engines,
and creak of straining chains. To-morrow morn-
ing, ere sunrise, the iron monster which rests so
secure upon the bosom of Father St. Law-
rence, will be emptied of her costly freight and
112
JOE beep's.
refilled with the valuable products of Canadian
toil.
Above him to the entrance of the canal, and
below him till the eye is strained in its efforts
to compass the distance, the scene is the same.
He wonders again if this is the Deserted
village, of which his country's dailies are so
tenderly solicitous. He finds himself thinking
if this is the land of desolation and debt about
whicli he has read ; and he wonders if these
sounds of busy commerce are the symptoms of
decay.
Having pretty well decided that in future he
will seek another gospel of information and
truth than his favorite Gift Ente7^prise Jotir-
nal, he sud.ienly remembers the object of his
trip, and his resolutions are interrupted :
"Well, we are here."
To his left, upon the corner of the street fac-
ing the river front and the narrow street which
he has just descended, is a dark and dirty cor-
ner "gin-mill." Its character of occupation is
unmistakable.
Even at this distance, an odor unhuman and
vile assails his nostrils. He sniffs again :
Job beef's.
113
** Am I on the bounding prairie ? for surely I
smell buffalo."
His companion laughs for answer.
The American is visibly nettled.
" My friend and Canuck," he says with just a
touch of sarcasm in his voice, "that peculiar
odor does not belong to a gin-mill. The last
time I fainted under it was in a dime museum
on the Bowery."
His companion laughed aloud.
" Brother Jonathan," he replied, with true
Canadian politeness, '* this is better than any
Bowery museum, for here you not only see
the wild animals, but the human as well ; and,
better than all, you have a good glass of beer
right on the premises. Lastly, it is free."
Lost in admiration of this Canadian institu-
tion so cunningly devised, the two enter.
For a second, the American has lost his as-
sumed air of indifference. Manifestly he is
astonished.
In front of him is the rarest collection of
men his eyes had ever seen. There was not a
good coat, nor a hat in even moderate repair, in
the entire company. Their garb was of the
114
JOE beef's.
poorest, but it made no difference to their
spirits — all hands were happy and contented.
Upon a corner of the room, a stack of loaves
of bread, piled, if^not mountain-high, at least
ceiling-high, attracted attention. Around this
improvised pantry, the men stood or sat and
ate heartily.
In the opposite corner, something black was
lying down, but once in a while the ominous
rattle of chain warned the inquisitive to keep at
a distance. It could not be a dog ; it was too
big for a cat.
Suddenly it arose, and a vision of a wide-open
mouth — a dream in white and red — greeted the
bystanders.
The American's vanity was tickled — his
sense of smell had not deceived him ; he had
smelt bear.
Behind a counter, a stout man, with florid
face, dispensed the ardent fluid to a thirsty
crowd. All was quiet and orderly.
The American suggested to his company that
possibly to-morrow might be ** bear-steak" day.
at this restaurant ; but the joke v/as lost upon
the night air.
JOB BEKF's.
\lt
" You have seen the 'tiger' and the 'elephant*
in Ne\v York. Come down stairs with me, and
see the buffalo in Montreal."
A pale faced-l)oy is detailed to lead our steps
right, and we follow. He L^^ckons us toward
a stairway which " seems the pathway down
to hell ;" and with reluctant steps we follow.
!n a dark and ill-smelling cellar, a square
space has been stoutly boarded off, and within
it an object hairy and dark is reclining.
It was the lordly roanier of thejVVestern plains
— the animal wiio has rechristened one of Amer-
ica's most prominent citizens, the Hon. Wil-
liam J. Cody ; in short, it is a buffalo.
Properly speaking, it is what is left of one ; for
captivity has sadly worsted his once noble form
and frozen the fiery current of his soul. He is
a treed buffalo.
To the left of us, another bear is chained ; but
it is unnecessary — his ferocity is gone, and the
tenderest Indian maiden in all the forests would
hardly tempt his sunken jaws into action.
Upon a bar a huge cage hangs, near the ceil-
ing, and within it two parrots, almost as devoid
116
JOS sjskf's.
of feathers as a broiled chicken, occasionally
disturb the vicinity with cacophonous noise.
In remote corners, unlit by the feeble and
glimmering light of a smoky lamp, other objects
are moving; but the desire for fresh air, in the
visitors, is too strong to be resisted. The in-
vestigation into this menagerie is not pursued
further.
Above the saloon are sleeping-rooms ; for no
poor man need want a bed while Joe Beef's is
open. In the morning he must turn out early
and wash himself ; this last being a hobby of
the strange and eccentric proprietor. There is
good wholesome bread in the corner, and he
may eat, and welcome. If he has money, he
can pay it ; if he is penniless, he need not.
Joe Beef's may be low, it is certainly dirty
on the cellar and ground floors ; and the value
of such a place to the city may be questioned.
But let one thing be remembered — many a
tired head has here found rest ; many a hungry
mouth has here been filled.
Surely, this charity will cover a multitude
jf sins.
At Joe Beef's death, quite recently, the Mont-
J0« BSKF't.
Ill
real S^ar did justice to one who, with all his
faults, was the poor man's friend, and gave
some particulars of his strange career : lie was
born in County Cavan, Ireland, in the year
1835, and consquently was 54 years of age
at the time of his death. When quite a young
boy, he was sent to the School of Gunnery in
Woolwich, England. When the Crimean war
broke out, he was drafted into the Royal Artil-
lery, and served through the greater portion of
the well-known campaign, being raised to the
rank of sergeant. When others failed to secure
supplies, Joe would start out, and it was very
rarely that he returned without a plentiful sup*
ply of beef and other eatables ; and from this
he received the name Joe Beef. lie came to
Canada with the Royal Artillery, ordered to
Quebec in the year 1864 on account of the Trent
atfair. He came to Montreal with his brigade
in 1864, had charge of the canteen at the Que-
bec barracks for three years and at St. Helen's
Island for two years. In 1868, he then bought
his discharge, and started a tavern on Claude
Street, named the Crown and Sceptre. When
this street was widened, in 1870, he removed to
118
JOE beef's.
his present abode, Nos. 4, 5, and 6 Common
Street, where he has been ever since. In 1877,
durinir three days of the Lachine Canal strike,
he distributed over 3000 loaves and 500 gallons
of soup. He also sent two delegates to Ottawa "
to intercede for the workmen. A few years
after this occurrence, the operatives at the cot-
ton-mills at liochclaga refused to wo?k unless
the hours of labor were reduced. Whilst this
strike was in progress, Joe advised the people
to hold out, and in the mean time had a plenti-
ful supply of bread and soup distributea amongst
them. It will be remembered that the opera-
tives got the desired reduction in hours.
Upon this occasion, the Montreal daily
IVi'liess, which claims the exclusive privilege of
being the follower of llim who preached char-
ity to all, followed the dead man even to his
grave with vilification and hypocritical abuse.
For them the old and honored saying of " De
mortuis nil nisi bonum" carries no mean-
ing. The editorial is worthy of reproduction
If its claim to being " the only religious daily"
is founded upon such works as this, it will
hold its position undisputed.
^ »:ir.vt a*-..
JOE beef's.
110
4,
Read this :
•'Joe Beef is Dead. — For twenty-five
yea:., he has enjoyed in his own way the repu-
^ tation of beinix for Montreal what was in
former days known under the pet sohri(]uet of
the wickedest man. His saloon, where men
consorted with ur clean beasts, was probably
the most disgustingly dirty in the country. It
has been the bottom of the sink of which the
Windsor bar and others like it are the re-
ceivers. The only step further was to be found
mu'dered on the wharf or dragged out of the
gutter or the river, as might happen. It was
the resort of the most degraded of men. It
was the bottom of the pit, a sort of cut de snc,
in which thieves could be corralled. The police
declared it valuable to them as a place where
these latter could be run down. It has been
actively at work over all that time for the
brutalizing of youth — a work wdiich was carried
on with the utmost diligence by its, in that
sense, talented {)roprietor. The excuse just
mentioned for tolerating it, and licensing it
annually in the Queen's rame, issurelv an un-
speakable disgrace. Worse than this, under
i. <
» 4
120
TB« TBXATSX8.
the principles of our present government, this
destructive resort will be held to have a good-
will, whatever that word may mean with re-
gard to embrutlng young men, and claims will
be made for a continuance of this license from
her Majesty to carry on this trade on condi-
tion of sharing the gains with her Majesty to
the extent of two hundred dollars."
Comment upon such charity is unnecessary.
CHAPTER X.
THE THE ATRES.
It may be remarked, right at the start of this
chapter, that Montreal "does not go much on
theatres." It goes to them much, but the
drama in Montreal is but the idle amusement
of an hour. The impression left by any per-
formance is but temporary ; with the majority
it is soon forgotten.
Where is the intelligent man who, after vis-
iting one of the larger American cities, will
not confess to his astonishment at the devotion
s"-., ---;i'ii^*r.-~.'--
MiMliilSNMWef^^W^npMtMfiiif
THE THXATBX8.
121
of the public to the drama, and of their intelli-
gent appreciation of the efforts of its artists ?
This appreciation, so gratifying and encour-
aging to its followers, and so creditable to the
patrons themselves, finds no place in Montreal.
The play is applauded or listened to in silent
condemnation, it is laughed at or wept over ;
but it is forgotten, and the names of its mimic
characters, and of the artists who portrayed
them are sometimes not even noticed and
almost invariably forgotten.
In no city is the actor's art more evanescent,
less permanent, than in Montreal. It is not
creditable to the inhabitants.
It is not our purpose to discuss the cause nor
to suggest a cure. It may be the want of
proper and intelligent criticism to guide the
outsiders aright — for Montreal theatrical criti-
cism is notoriously incompetent and partial ;
or it may be that the dailies do not lead their
readers to think upon the art which Shake-
speare loved ; — but pity t'is, t'is true.
And yet Montreal has been singularly favored
in the respect of theatrical performances.
Withia the walls of the Academy of Music the
122
THE THEATRES.
actors in the mimic world beyond the foot-
lights have not lacked encouragement from
the "sea of faces" not far away; and applause,
if not keenly discriminating, is ofttimes hearty
and honest.
Upon the boards of the Academy of Music,
many famous disciples of the art of Tiiespis
have strutted and fretted their little hour.
Here Bernhardt, •* La divine Sara," looked
with the winning tenderness of her liquid eyes
upon Annand, and braved the Princesse de Bou-
llion. Over the audiences the thrill of horror
has passed when Genevieve Ward, as Stcphajiie
de Mohrivart, sees the revengeful Corsican
waiting upon the balcony for his victim; and
her wild cry of terror still rings in our ears.
Lovely, gentle Adelaide Ncilson murmured
the passion of the love-lorn daughter of the
Capulets to the crooning and bleating Romeo
beneath her balcony, and sighed in silver-sweet
accents for " A falconer's voice to lure him
back again." Statuesque Mary Anderson
has chilled the love of the moon-eyed Orlando
in the forest of Arden, and posed as Parthcnia.
Modjeska, sweetest of them all, more womanly.
Wia,j,U'>iSi:iMV-^.V. -
-'■'» WAIUN^^W^HH^ '
THE THKATRES,
123
more loveable, has wept as the erring Froti'
Frou, and Montreal's fairest daughters wept
with her; and Ellen Terry has flooded over the
stage and tried the keen encounter of her wits
with Benedict. Here, too, Marie Prescott, with
fierce strength, has cursed her lying husband in
'• The Wages of Sin " and shrunk from Othello s
stormy caresses. Margaret Mather's untrained
ability lias shown us dimly the sorrows of
** Leah the Forsaken," and charming Rose
Coghlan has fascinate ^ us with her exquisite
comedy, as she joked at poor 6^/^ Peter Teazle.
Janauschek, grandly tragic, has cursed Dick
Hattei'ick; and we have here seen Ristori,
voiceless almost and in her wane. Patti and
Gerster have sung here ; and the last notes of
their music still floats around us.
Salvini, grandest of tragedians, has pleaded
his cause before the Senate and lifted his won-
drous voice in barbaric rage. The skill and
stagecraft of an Irving has reproduced " Louis
XI." and thrilled us with the abject terror of
Mathias in "The Bells." We have laughed
with Colonel Mnlberry Sellers and sorrowed
with Mantell. The unctuous humor of W. J.
.Htkeit^
immmmmWmmmmmmm.
124
THK THBATBSf.
Florence as Captain Cuttle, the solemn and
quiet fun of Roland Reed, and the drunken
antics of George Knight have amused us. The
cunning of Keene's hunchback king, the
ghastly terror of Mansfield's Baron Cher-
rial, and the humanity and pathos of the
Jack Yetibett of Joseph Haworth have all
received their due meed of recognition.
A first night at the Academy of Music is
rarely the best for purposes of observation.
The Montrealer — insular as a Briton — does
not know what is said or written of the piece
in other cities ; he does not care. Deep
down in his mind there is a settled conviction
that the American theatrical manager is always
" trying it on the dog," and he prefers to wait
until his friends have gone. He prefers them
to stand the brunt of the fray. Ofttimes it is
a trying ordeal, for the Academy has seen
some "cruel" shows, of which " C. O. D.,"
"On the Trail," and "Philopene" remain unto
this day in their memories. In view of this,
Montreal caution is justifiable — even com-
mendab'e
rilT ;^:,,..-*iird of dramatic performance seems
TBSATfifid.
w
•vT;
•J^V'
to be the famous "Diplomacy" company of
ten years ago. Some members of the cast are
still remembered :
Henry Beattckrc, . Fred. B. Warde.
Julian Beaucierc, . Maurice Barry more.
Ba7'on SteiHy . . H. Rees Davies.
Count de Carojac, . Signor Majeroni.
Dora, Miss Annie Edmondson.
Countess Zicka, . . Signora Majeroni.
Mr. Barrymore was then an infinitely better
actor than he is now, and it is certain that he
then wore a hat two sizes smaller. Fred. B.
Warde had not been seized with stellar aspira-
tions. Mr. H. Rees Davies is now with
Roland Reed, and the Majeronis are in Aus-
tralia. Of Miss Edmondson, we have lost
track. It must, however, be admitted that it
was a notable performance. Ten such stock
companies are now on the road.
The Canadian representative of junior
" upper-tendom" does not consume his rival
with jealousy by taking his loved one to the
theatre and filling her with candy between the
acts. Canadian etiquette does not permit the
126
THE THEATRES.
former, and Canadian ideas of health and good
manners run contrary to the latter action. To
the Canadian juvenile "aristocrat," this Amer-
icanism seems a relic of barbarism ; so he either
goes alone and sits "in the unreserved," or,
with a "fellow of his own set," he dons his
evening dress and sits solemn and unmoved in
the orchestra chairs.
There is much to be said in favor of the non-
attendance of young people at the theatres.
The young man who goes with his fiana^e, —
actual or would-be, — and has compelled her to
listen to the indecencies of " La Tosca" or " A
Wife's Peril," or something equally sultry, is in
a position not devoutly to be wished for.
There are some first-nighters in Montreal,
without whom, it is jestingly said, the
Academy would remain unopened. One of
these, a prominent politician, portly of form
and gray of hair, is known as a devoted ad-
mirer of the fair sex, and the sacred lamp of
burlesque shines never too brightly for him.
From his box, on the left of the stage, his
ardent glances fall upon the performers ; but,
II
THE THEATftES.
127
alas ! the attraction is not mutual, and his at-
tentions are seldom rrcinrocated.
Another familiar figure on Monday nights
is the smooth-faced and slender scion of a
leading wealthy French-Canadian family. He
has figured more than once hefore the public ;
but of late he has withdrawn into temporary,
if not enforced ; seclusion.
Another regular attendant is one of the sons
of a wealthy railroad-speculator. His attire is
like unto Jacob's coat, and ev^en Solomon in
all his glory was not a circumstance to this
local Berry Wall. It is well that his dress is his
worst characteristic ; otherwise he is harmless.
But the time to see a Montreal audience at
its best is during an amateur performance —
such as are frequently given in aid of some well-
known charity. Here indeed, do youth and
beauty meet ; for the dramatic or minstrel
talent of Montreal is recruited from its upper
ranks, and the entire house is always sold to
the friends and acquaintances of the per-
formers, and tickets to those outside of the
" local 400 " are at a premium.
To-night there is an amateur minstrel per-
»fifl»»iinpp(*lp
128
TBS TnSATBSd.
formance for the benefit of " The Home for
Incurable Old Maids," and we are informed
that the entire house is sold, and that the
merit of the performers and the brilliancy of
the audience will mark an event in fashionable
Montreal.
Our American blood is up. We will see
that performance and that audience if we have
to bankrupt ourselves to get tickets and leave
our trunks " as security " at our hotel.
We are saved this sad fate. The "gentle-
manly" (always gentlemanly in print) hotel
clerk, after superhuman efforts, has got us
two. He says that his attempts in our behalf
would have done justice to a sporting man on
the trail of a prize-fight. We believe him — it
is easier than disputing; we dress with extra
care, and duly at eight o'clock we present our-
selves.
The house was not half full yet, and we
marvelled greatly thereat. We had not yet
learned that in Montreal, as elsewhere, no
amateur performance begins at the advertised
time.
Soon wc hear the rattle of the tambo and
THE TllKATRES.
129
bones, and for the first time \vc venture to cast
our eyes about us. The house is full Liri we
are surrounded by th<3 " youth and beauty " of
Montreal.
We arc not disappointed. There are pix'tty
young girls of from eighteen to twenty two
and handsome women of thirty. The men in
evening dress are what might be termed " tine
young fellows."
One thing is especially noticeable — the:"e is
an air of distinction about tl;e audience wliich
seems to say, " Our refinement and our posi-
tion does not date from last generation." The
women do not talk loud — that qualii.y of voice
so commended by the Sweet Swan of Avon.
Their English pronunciation is of the ))est ; and
there is no slang, no nasal drawl, no "ain't;"
better than all, no blazing of diamonds, so
noticeable in the regular anvl parvenu audi-
ences of New York. Of this, my American
friends shall be duly informed.
There is a tinkle ; instantly we settle back
in our seats, prepared to be bored and to look
happy.
There is nothing for the old-timer to object
130
THE THKATRKS.
to in the stage setting, revealed as the curtain
rolls up. The fifty young men upon the stage
are well posed, the end-men look confident,
and the scenery and gas-jets fill up a charming
pioture.
The fun begins. An admirably played over-
ture raises in our minds the hope that perhaps
the show will not be unendurable, and three
times we have caught ourselves laughing at the
antics of the young man on the bones end.
Then the jokes arc sprung, and we have not rec-
ognized a single old friend. We marvel at
the easy manner of the-end men and the self-
possession of the clear-voiced interlocutor.
Once, an end man for an instant only seems
shaky, but the interlocutor, with the readiness of
a professional, guides him over the rough spot.
It is admfrably done, and it passes almost
entirely unnoticed. The solos are admirably
sung, and the chorus attach with the certainty
of veterans.
The curtain goes down upon the first part,
and we Jonathans are enthusiastic in praise of
Mr. Canuck.
" Charley," said I, " this show is good enough
THE THKATRES.
131
to travel on its own merits, with no charity at-
tachment."
My friend agreci: with me, and we listen to
the favorable comments of the audience around
us.
The second part is surprisingly good. There
is a capital quartette, a banjoist almost up to
Billy Carter, and the end-man who was so
witty in the first part is screamingly funny in
the after-piece. Decidedly, he is an artist.
We wait in the lobby as the audience file
out. Our good impression is renewed, and we
admire the rich, soft furs so much in fashion.
The next night we prepare ourselves for a
trip to the Theatre Royal, which, we are in-
formed, is similar to the Third Avenue Theatre
in New York.
Its popularity is undoubted ; to that, the en-
tering crowds bear witness. With difficulty
we squeeze in, and, paying fifty cents apiece,
we lord it, over the common herd, in a box seat.
" My Partner " is most excellently performed.
The man who acts ^oe Saunders is an artist.
Gilfeather is his name, if I remember aright,
and Miss Mary Brandon is sweet and refined.
132
THE spider's web.
In the audience is no silk and satin, but only
fustian ; but all seem to be happy and enjoying
themselves. Above all, everything is orderly.
Again we are favorably impressed.
Montreal at present supports but two thea-
tres. The Queen's Hall, a fine, roomy, and well-
lit hall, has no scenery and is the home of
concert proper. Albani, Scalchi, and Cam-
panini have sung here.
The theatre is only indirectly an educator ;
but, if it amuses, its mission is fulfilled. Provided
the amusement be pure, education will follow.
CHAPTER XI.
THE SPIDERS WEB.
The passion for gambling seems implanted
W'thin the human breast. Ouida, in " Moths,"
remarks that i: is the passion which outlasts all
the others. Nearly every man and woman has
at one time or other left the decision of some
more or less weighty question to the Blind
Goddess. In the dawn of time, had we their
'■A ifiiAiai J--. vitruiiiR, •. -aistj-.i
'T<ipWi«p«giMMNi«ManmiMtt($
mum^mummm^'
THE spider's web.
133
records, it would probably be found that the
earliest civilized races were victims. We are
certain, from the Old Testament, that " they
cast lots."
Upon this subject the once-famous O. B.
Frothingham wrote an e.ssay, which he entitled
"The Ethics of Gambling," which vice he
rather wittily defined as " trying to get the
start of Providence." A well-known American
monthly publishes some curious statements
upon the most fascinating sin, which age can-
not wither nor custom stale — the darling alike
of hot-headed youth, staid middle age, and
senile decay.
The passion for gambling, of which betting
is only one form, was developed very early in
in the history of man. The Greeks and Ro-
mans were fond of laying wagers. One of
the wildest bets ever made was that of the
physician Asclepiades, who wagered against
Fortune that he would never be ill in his life-
time, staking his reputation as the greatest
medical authoritv of his dav. He won his
wager, although he could not enjoy it, for at
134
THE spider's web.
an advanced age he fell down-stairs and received
injuries from vviiich he died.
The Romans invested betting with much
solemnity. Each party to the contract took
his ring from his finger, and gave it into the
keeping of some third party until the bet was
decided. We see here a foreshadowing of our
modern stakeholder. The lex Titia and the
lex Cornelia forbade betting on any games un-
less they were trials of courage, bodily strength,
or skill.
In the Middle Ages, various legal restrictions
were placed upon betting. In Rome, wagers
on the death or exaltation of the popes and on
the promotion of cardinals were forbidden. In
Venice, wagers on the election of all public
officers were forbidden ; and Genoa carried the
restriction to bets on the success of military
expeditions, the revolutions of states or king-
doms, the arrival and departure of vessels, and
proposed marriages. A statute passed in Paris
in 1565 made it illegal to make any woman the
subject of a wager.
In the year 1725, a banker named BuUiot
ruined himself by trusting to a popular supersti-
THE SProER*S WEB.
135
tion. The English say that, if St. Swithin's
Day (July 15) be rainy, the rain will continue
for forty days. St. Swithin's Day of that year
was rainy, and Bulliot ofTered to bet that the
saying would hold good. His takers were so
many and eager that the terms were reduced to
writing, as follows : " If, dating from St.
Swithin's Day. it rains more or little during
ioYty &dys successively, Bulliot will be considered
to have gained ; but if it ceases to rain for only
one day during that time, Bulliot has lost."
Bulliot was so confident of success that he
placed money against all articles of value —
gold-headed canes, snuff-boxes, jewels, even
clothes. When his cash was exhausted, he is-
sued notes and bills of exchange to the amount,
it is said, of one hundred thousand crowns.
He found himself suddenly famous : verses
were made in his honor, a play was produced
of which he was the hero, all England was for
the moment supremely interested in the
weather. For twenty-one days, more or less,
rain fell. The twenty-second opened bright
and cloudless and continued so. Bulliot had
lost his bet ; but he was ruined so completely
136
THE SPIDEK*S WEB.
that he was unable to meet the notes and bills
that bore his name.
A notorious gambler of the last centur)%
whose name has not yet descended to posterity,
was playing for high stakes with Lord Lorn,
until finally, exasperated by a run of continu-
ous ill luck, he jumped from the card-tabie,
and, seizing a large punch-bowl, cried : " For
once I'll have a bet where I have an equal
chance of winning ! Odd or even, for fifteen
thousand guine?s ?"
" Odd," replied the peer, calmly.
Crack went the bowl against the wall. When
the pieces were gathered up and counted, the
number proved to be odd. The gambler paid
his money, but tradition asserts that it was only
by selling the last of his estates.
Heidegger, Master of the Revels to George
II., was considered the ugliest person in Eng-
land. A courtier wagered that he could pro-
duce an uglier. He was allowed a few days to
unearth his champion, and, after exploring all
the worst slums of London, brought forward
an old woman from St. Giles's. The umpire,
with Heidegger's approval, was about to award
.iMMMmm.:^
ii^^miMi-^
.^if^H)i*:
THE spider's web.
137
the palm to her; but Heidegger, in response to
a suggestion, donned the old woman's bonnet,
and with this added ugHness he carried off the
palm.
A not dissimilar bet was made in 1806, in
the Castle Yard, York, between Thomas Hodg-
son and Samuel Whitehead, as to which should
assume the most eccentric costume. Hodgson
came before the umpires decorated with bank-
notes of various values on his coat and waist-
coat, and a row of five-guinea notes and a long
netted purse of gold round his hat. The words
" John Bull" were written on his back. White-
head was made up like a negro on one side, like
a woman on the other. One half of his face
was black, the other was rouged ; one half of
his body appeared in a gaudy long-tailed linen
coat, leather breeches, and spurred boot, the
other half in woman's dress, with a silk stock-
ing and a slipper. The judges awarded the
stakes to Hodgson.
The violinist Vieuxtemps used to be fond of
relating the following story. As he was walk-
ing on London Bridge, a poor wretch threw
himself over the parapet. There was a rush of
138
THK SPIDEE's web.
eager spectators. " I'll bet he drowns !" shouted
one. " Two to one he'll swim ashore !" " Done !"
Vieuxtemps, meanwhile, had jumped into a
boat and ordered the waterman to rescue the
unhappy creature. But a roar came from the
bridge, " Leave him alone ! there's a bet on."
The waterman, with the true British love of
sport, at once refused to interfere, and the un-
happy man wis drovnie^' ^t will be remem-
bered that Dumas has uit. ti.is incident in one
of his novels.
True to his country, the L an-cMiiim *s a gam-
bler. From his British ancestor he has inher-
ited this vice. From his American cousin he
has received much encouragement, and the
American national indoor game was never so
popular as it is in Montreal to-day. The num-
ber of "sessions" being held upon any given
night at draw-poker cannot be fairly estimated
nor even approximately estimated.
This particular form of gambling has burst
like a storm over Lower Canada, and finds its
headquarters in Montreal. The enterprising
Canuck is an apt pupil and the city which
some years ago was fair game for the adven-
i!'^
■■
m^
THE BPIDKB's WBB.
139
turers from over the border is now pretty
tough plucking. Its experts can now hold
their own, and often some of their neighbors' ;
for in them is combined the cunning of the
Scotchman, the stolid persistence of the Eng-
lishman, and the audacity of the American.
Small wonder is it that, as a Montreal sport
lately stated, "game is scarce."
Draw-poker holds sway at the hotels. Not
a night passes but half a dozen amateur sports,
from the six hundred-a-year clerk to the flour-
ishing grain-merchant and the railway mag-
nate, slowly, and one at a time, glide upstairs
and are seen no more.
Of rooms for this purpose there are many
in every quarter of the city. They are splen-
didly patronized, and "the little lady in the
centre," otherwise called "the only winner"
and " the best player," must be well attended
to, for the proprietors walk St. James Street
in purple and fine linen, and their diamonds
sparkle in the sunlight.
In company with two others, we were
" steered" — this I believe is the proper term —
140
THE SPIDEk's web
to several of the most prominent and best
known. Our trip was not without interest.
In a fine three-story building on Craig
Street, not far from St. Lambert's Hill, is the
finest establishment for the delectation of "the
fancy" in the city ; and thither one Saturday
night we bent our steps.
Descending Beaver Hall Hill, we turned
our steps eastward along Craig Street, and
presently found ourselves opposite a wooden
door forming part of a porch attached to a
handsome stone building. Pushing open the
door, a Hight of steps rose before us.
Arriv^ed at the top step, our upwaru progress
is barred by a massive nail-studded door. A
ring at the bell, and we find ourselves the
objects of surveillance through an eye-hole.
The result of the investigation seems satisfac-
tory ; a sound of bolts withdrawn is heard, and
we find ourselves in a large passage.
Through two open doors, a room running
the entire depth of the house is seen. It is
neatly carpeted, and the furnishings, if not
costly, are at least complete and comfortable.
THK spider's web.
141
In the far corner, placed diagonally, is a hand-
some sofa.
In the corner opposite to the sofa is a table,
the general appearance of which is familiar.
At the side, but behind it, is the elevated chair
of the lookout.
Plainly, the gamblers' game known to out-
siders as ** faro," but to the sport as " de
bank," is not in fashion just now. No stacks
of checks ornament the layout ; no innocent-
looking and open-faced box is visible. The
sports have deserted it, and at the far end of
the room are gathered together in the name of
"stud-poker."
Seated over a large table and facing the
dealer are the sports. The look of the play-
ers does not carry with it any assurance of
financial prosperity. Amongst ten players
there are two clean collars, six unclean, and
two without. This would be a bad average
for a jury. There are but three well-dressed
men in the lot. But of money there appears
to be no lack. Stacks of checks and rolls of
bills appear, disappear, and change owners
with startling frequency and suddenness.
k I
142
THK spider's web.
To men used to American gambling-houses
there is more noise and talk than usual. All
hands laugh, chat, and occasionally mutter a
curse, not loud but deep ; but there is no quar-
relling, no dispute of any kind. An admirable
order prevails.
The dealer is an old hand, and he " rakes
off" with a liberality which would suggest to
even the most inexperienced that he gets " a
bit" of the '' kitty,"— i.i French, "cagnotte."
He is a big stout man, with a round head and
closely cropped hair, but there is about him an
air of sturdy honesty and good-humor, and with-
al, a keen shrewdness. VVe are informed that
he is a contractor, and that this is but a side-
issue with him. We are pleased at this charm-
ingly indefinite statement, — we have to be, —
and we mentally wish for a share in so profit-
able a side-issue ourselves.
The first man upon his left is young, stout,
and almost guiltless of mustache. He owns
a prosperous grocery, left him by his father.
Next him is a small man with keen black eyes,
who rarely speaks. He is a Frenchman, and
evidently a rare good player. His neighbor is
TIIK SPIDER'S WKB.
143
a rather good-looking young man ; but he is
no veteran, and he nervously fingers his checks.
The others are much of a kind, with one ex-
ception.
A strongly built mm of about thirty-five at-
tracts attention. He sports a heavy black
mustache, his linen is of the finest quality, and
upon his little finger a diamond of outrageous
size sparkles. He is the talker of the party,
and what his conversation lacks in wit, it
atones far in Irish brogue and wild disregard
of grammar. He is the ostensible owner; inese
others are silent partners.
This house is famous. In days gone by a
firm of Western sports ran it, and at its roulette
wheel large sums were won and lost. In its
loft a prize-fight of some quality was decided;
and there is an air of mystery about the
premises, entirely in accord with fights, tips,
wins and losses.
But is this game never interfered with. It
has been; but the coming event had c , Its
shadow before, and no serious results followed.
It will be again, but unless the present entente
cordiale is severed no good will ensue.
A:.
144
THE SPIDEB^S WEB.
From this it might be surmised that " the
pull" in Montreal is just as useful and as
strongly used as in New York. The surmise,
I am informed, would be correct.
Taking our leave of here, we descended tlic
narrow stairway, and the cool air strikes our
faces. Along Craig Street we walked, and up
what seems to be a busy street in daytime, but
is now silent and almost deserted.
A short distance up, and we stop at a door
between two stairs, and evidently opening on a
stairway to the rooms above. Ascending the
stairs no iron-bound door bars our upward
progress, no lookout surveys our respectability
through an eyehole. Everything is wide open.
Here do they fear no enemy — neither winter,
rough weather, nor meddling police. In two
large rooms, separated by folding-doors, two
groups of men sit around tables, at draw-poker
engaged. Three men are standing up looking
on. Upon a sofa in the corner of one of the
rooms a man is stretched sleeping.
The air in these rooms is simply stifling. It
would have weakened those undaunted sala-
manders of Scripture Vvho scorned the petty
TDK SPIDKK*8 WKB.
145
terrors of the seven-times-heatcd fiery furnace,
but it produces no impression upon the
Canadian converts to America's game, who
nightly assemble here. All are too busy — the
losers trying to get even, the winners trying to
hold their own.
And what a motley collection! The question
at once enters our minds, "Who are they all ?"
Fortunately one of the party is posted, and
he whispers to us the players* story.
The little man with tiny hn ds and short
black beard bears a historical name. At one
time he was rich, he failed in business many
years ago, and since then he has no visible
means of support. Still he finds money
enough to play and to pay. He looks at
variance with his surroundings^ — this gentleman
by birth and education, if not by profession.
Next him is a short stout man with a shifting
expression of face and a whining voice. He
claims to be a horse-dealer. His neighbor is
a handsome man, whose appearance bespeaks
him the man of business. He is a prosperous
hardware merchant ; but he has the fever,
and judging from the pile of checks in front of
146
THE spider's web.
him he appears io have the luck. A stout
young man, who speaks admirable French, but
with an English accent, has just left his seat: he
is cleaned out ; but his place is quickly tilled by
a blond young man with a gentlemanly manner
and a smooth voice.
The proprietor is playing at the other table.
He is stout and dark, with a heavv mustache
and large hands and feet. lie talks continu-
ously and curses loudly. Born with consider-
able brains and well educated, he has not seen
fit to turn his ability to anything better than
"le jeu et les femmes."
This place, like the other, is quiet and or-
derly. There is no unseemly noise, no quar-
rel, and much talk. All appears fair and above-
board. The pigeon may be getting plucked,
but his money is not stolen.
Along St. Joseph Street and not far from a
prominent hostelry is another but less savory
spot. Over a store, its entrance is upon the
main street and up a flight of stairs. At the
head a gas-jet burns and an open door reveals
the inside of a scantily furnished room.
This game is run by two Frenchmen, verbose
n. tv »■ r^AM.b_t^-«.\i,,iL'^\A.^s.^a^^
THE spider's web.
Ul
reputation is none of the best even in their
own set. They are looked down upon as a
refutation of the proverb of " honor amongst
thieves." The better class of gamblers will
have none of them, and their patrons are prin-
cipally men who would not be admitted in any
of the respectable games.
On St. Catherine Street, East, over a billiard-
saloon is run the biggest poker-room in the city.
Four tables in one room, and that room no
bigger than an ordinary drawing-room ! Surely
love of poker is stronger in a Frenchman than
love of fresh air.
The gambling fever has certainly struck
Montreal. It is epidemic and very conta-
gious, and, unless nipped, it bids fair to be-
come permanent. The day when faro is run
with open doors, as in Chicago some years ago,
may be far distant from Montreal. It may
never come, but the city is drifting in that di-
rection. Unless checked it may ultimately
reach that bad eminence.
Who will inaugurate the crusade ?
148
THE 6TBEBTS.
CHAPTER XII.
THE STREETS.
What ideas are conjured up by these words
— the streets !
"The Streets of New York" is of course the
first if we are of a dramatic turn of mind, and
the exciting scenes of that lurid melodrama
again pass before us. From that we think of
Broadway with its endless crowd of strollers,
its pretty women and handsome men. We are
carried in fancy back to Sixth Avenue at
night, or the noisy and crowded Bowery with
its gin-palaces and its dives.
Paris then, and its brilliantly lighted boule-
vards, and London with its hideous Strand.
But soft ! we have left Montreal behind,
and we must retrace our steps.
Sherbrooke Street with its promenaders in
soft clinging furs can hardly be accorded a
place in " Montreal by Gaslight." Seen at
night, it is lonely and quiet. An air of aristo-
THB STBSBTS.
149
cratic repose is upon it and its gas-lamps twin-
kle with subdued light. Occasionally a private
carriage with closely-drawn windows rolls
smoothly by, and the muffled-up faces of its oc-
cupants bespeak the return from ball or thea-
tre. Over the street hangs a haze ; the noise of
busy strife in the city below comes to it, but
its rest is undisturbed, and in the shadow of
Mount Royal it reposes in grateful seclusion.
But three streets below a change comes over
the spirit of our dream. There is a bustle and
stir different from what we last saw. It jars
upon our quieted nerves. We can now see that
we have left rest behind, and that here is felt
the first breath of toil.
On every hand is life, active and aggressive ;
stores with goods alluringly displayed ; brilliant
electric lights ; and crowding, bustling human-
ity.
Upon a corner a group of young men are
standing. Some of them, athletic and well built,
are engaged in heated dispute.
" He will."
*' He won't."
160
THB STBBETS.
The discussion waxes warmer. The question
is left to a third.
"Will Charley run in the steeplechase to-
morrow ?"
Only this and nothing more ; and we pass
on disappointed. Evidently we are in an
athletic quarter.
A little farther down another group obstructs
the sidewalk.
" You will."
" I won't."
" I say you will."
The discussion ends with both men moving
toward a red light not far away. We think
of Rip Van Winkle and again move away.
Evidently there is a saloon in the vicinity.
Farther down St. Catherine Street we
stroll, and at the corner of Bleury Street a
halt is called. Again we listen.
" She looked at you."
" Well, what if she did ? I am the hand-
somest of the party."
This pleasantry causes roars of laughter
from the knot of young fellows, rather loudly
dressed, who stand upon the curb and keep one
i
I
f
1
THE STBESTS.
101
eye open for the policeman and another for
the females.
This must be "Where the Sparrows and
Chippies Parade" in old Montreal.
Truly the observant man may gather some
information about his neighborhood from the
scraps of conversation about him.
St. Catherine Street is a sort of local Sixth
Avenue for Montreal. At night it is a parade
for the clerk, the servant, and any one whose
business calls them from the West End to the
East or vice versa. It is shoddy and unfash-
ionable at night, but in the afternoon it is the
promenade of the " nobility, gentry, and bank
clerks of the city," and also ibr the rising soci-
ety belles. Not to " do" St. Catherine Street
at least one afternoon in the week, especially
Saturday, is to admit an unfamiliarity with the
manners and customs of good society in Mon-
treal.
This does not apply to Sunday afternoons.
On this day St. Catherine Street is given over
to Jane and Bridget, who walk up and down
from Bleury to Mountain streets and meet
'•'Arry" and "Jeames."
152
THE STKEKTS.
But here we are forgetting that this is be-
coming a story of daylight, and that the gas-
light part is overlooked.
St. James and Notre Dame streets upon
any night but Saturday are almost deserted.
The electric light's cold rays fall upon closed
doors and dark entrances. The huge retail
stores on either side are closed, the offices
silent and deserted. A twenty years' sleep has
fallen upon the street.
Eastward there is some change. Here the
prowlers and night-hawks of every kind and
both sexes loiter and lie in wait, like Satan,
seeking whom they may de/our.
Around the post-office and the Bank of
Montreal is fast becoming a miniature Strand.
It is a stamping-ground for men and women of
the lowest class. They walk St. Jan es Street
from St. Frangois Xavier Street at the post-
office corner to St. Lambert Hill and repeat,
in trotting phrase. The eye of the police
should be turned toward this and the street
cleared. The evil must be nipped in the bud.
St. Joseph Street on a Saturday night is
assuredly one of the sights of the city. Here
m&i^^S&^mM,-^
THE STBEBT8.
US
are to be seen the belles of Goose Village,
otherwise called Griffintown, dressed in their
Saturday-night best and looking sweet and
Irish. The promenaders here are as Irish as
Paddy's pig, and in addition have often the
traditional beauty and virtue of the dwellers in
the Emerald Isle. Here the masher and the
chappie do not promenade, for the hunt for
prey would most likely be unsuccessful. In
and around this district the Shamrock Lacrosse
Club holds sway in the hearts of the inhabitants
thereof. Shamrock victory is a reasoR for
wild demonstrations and inordinate consump-
tion of the smoky product of Milesian distil-
leries. But a Shamrock defeat brings a short
season of sackcloth and ashes, but always the
same whisky.
Upon this street are fine retail stores and
dirty, insignificant shops, a magnificent hotel,
the Balmoral, and a countless number of small
and more or less respectable houses. But al-
ways and ever is to be seen "the gin-mill."
Along St. Joseph Street they run about four
to the block. It is a stronghold of Jol i
Barleycorn.
154
THE STBEST8.
St. Joseph Street is one of the main arteries
of the city. It runs the entire length of the
city from St. Henry, the southwestern suburb
of Montreal, to Hochelaga the southeastern
suburb, and it can proudly boast that upon
two sides are lined twice as many saloons as on
any other street in Montreal. This at least en-
titles it to consideration, if not distinction.
But the street par excellence where Mon-
treal is to be seen au naturel ; the boulevard
whereupon strolls the grand flaneur; the
street where walk the pimp and the prostitute ;
where saloons, museums, confectionery and
retail dry-goods stores form almost the entire
length ; where ground-floors are used for busi-
ness purposes, and the upper flats for gambling
and vilest debauchery ; where tobacco-stores
and candy-stores, ostensibly respectable, are but
dens of infamy, where liquor is sold after hours
and on Sundays without even the aid of the
little side door — that street is St. Lawrence
Main Street.
Here is a taste of spicy immorality. In such
a field will surely be found food for reflection.
THB STBBBTS.
156
We begin at the foot of the street, and with open
eyes and ears take in the sights and sounds.
In reversal of the ordinary ideas, the fash-
ionable side of St. Lawrence Street is the East
Side. The West Side is all very well for the
man of business, or the busy wife hurrying
home from market ; but for the visitor who
would study the street and its characters, the
East Side is the only one his wandering steps
should mark.
Not far from the lower end Is a saloon kept
by the prot^gd of a notorious woman who
keeps a brothel not many blocks away. Her
money started the • business," and, although
the place is occasi( aally closed owing to the
" illness" of the pre :)rietor, it does a flourishing
trade.
A little higher up is a saloon whose violation
of the liquor laws is flagrant and persistent.
No side door is necessary, the front door
being deemed good enough. It is a pretty
tough spot, but no tougher than its patrons,
and not one half as tough as the liquor it
dispenses.
166
THE STBSBTS.
Above this saloon is a gambling-house, also
in full blast with open doors. There should
be a fortune in these two places.
Across the street is a most notorious saloon,
"The Frog." The origin of this name is lost
in the mists of antiquity, but the frequenters
of the little back parlor of this cloister are of
the lowest class. It has not been decided as
to whether the men or the women are the
toughest. The visitor would likely call it a
stand-off.
A dry-goods store on a very prominent cor-
ner is respectability itself ; but the floors
above, to which entrance is gained by a side
street, are occupied for purposes better left un-
said. The convenience of such an arrange-
ment as having an immoral house upon a main
thoroughfare cannot be denied, but its advisa-
bility from a moral point of view may be ques-
tioned.
A little higher up, on the other side, is a
small and neatly fitted up tobacco-store. Be-
hind its counter a faded but still handsome
woman attends to our wants, and from her
comes no sign of anything uncanny about the
THE 8TBEET8.
167
store. But presently from behind the partition
dividing us from the rear of the shop comes a
sound of female laughter.
We look at the woman inquiringly and
smile.
The smile is reflected, and she asks,
" Would you gentlemen like to step inside?''
The gentlemen having "been there before,
many a time," upon the Bowery and elsewhere,
decline and express a preference for the outside
and leave.
Still higher up is a large and quiet-looking
hotel. Its innocence, we are informed, is in
its looks, for it answers the purpose of the
" Parsley," the " West Side," or some similar
choice spots known to the resident of
Gotham.
In our interest and curiosity as regards the
buildings and their occupation, the people up-
on the street have passed almost unnoticed.
We recollect [ourselves.
The e is a decided Third Avenue look about
them. No silk or satin rustles past us — it is
cotton and fustian ; no diamonds — only jet and
coral, and imitation at that, if our untrained
%
168
TIIK HTREETS.
eye docs not deceive us. Some of the women
pass us without a look ; some indeed need
to bestow no looks upon us, for their profes-
sion is written in their l)razen faces. Others
young and pleasant-looking if not pretty,
smile at us. In many cases, if we consider her
deserving, we return the young lady's smile.
But we pass through the furnace unscathed.
The men do not call for special notice.
They are of the very lowest middle class— French
dry-goods clerks out on the loose, or bar-room
loafers, with here and there a fine, respectable-
looking Frenchman. Two groups of young
men are standing on the corner. They are
Englishmen, evidently, doing the town. They
will soon have enough.
With pleasure we turn from St. Lawrence
Street into St. Catherine Street and move east-
ward.
On either side the cross streets are dark and
unfrequented. There is an air of mystery
about them, and from occasional glimpses,
sights, and sounds we reason to ourselves that
this is the "Tenderloin Precinct."
Our reasoning once more is correct, Sud-
:^
THB RTBETSTS,
150
denly a tall, handsome church rises before us;
above and below runs a fine, wide street. It
has an air of distinction and quiet about it, so
different from the streets we have left behind
us that we wonder. Surely this street is an
oasis in the desert.
Again we have guessed aright, for on this
street live many of the leading French families:
it is the Faubourg St. Germain in miniature.
From a hasty observation of Montreal's
streets, it must be admitted that they are order-
ly and, as far as can be expected in a large city,
unobjectionable. There art no sights to of-
fend the eye of modesty ; no disturbances.
Montreal at least keeps her vices hidden.
Her seamy side is not seen in her orderly, well-
kept, and peaceful streets.
ggy.
■■
100
THE STATION-HOUSE.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE STATIC N-H O U S E
In every city there is at least one place
in which the novelist or the philosopher may
find food for reflection, if not character for re-
production. Ej his habitation in the simple
village, the provincial town, or the cruel and
pitiless city, he has one spot where he may
cast his drag-net and be certain of a catch.
And what a sight does he view there ! The
waifs and strays of humanity ; the idle, the
vicious, the unfortunate — all the wastes and
burdens of society. Some arc there because ot
their offences against the laws of society, but
some also are there because they have nowhere
else tc lay their heads. Often it may be that
some innocent lies upon the Lard flo >r, while the
criminal foi whom he suffers is sleeping at his
ease under the same roof as hoiesty and virtue.
All unhappy, aii wretched, but some hopeful.
A «rgfci filCTe.it. fcJtf -■ 1.- tm
THE STATION-HOUSE.
161
*• Poor children of man, said the pitying spirit,
How dearly ye pay for your primal fall !"
Surely no one knows it better or feels more
keenly this sad truth than he who has seen his
fellow-men — brutal and drunken it may be, but
still men — driven by stern necessity to the cold
and uncharitable walls of " the station."
In various cities it is known under different
names, and the small wits of the lower classes
have outdone themselves in their efforts to ex-
tract humor from the subject. But after all,
would it not take a Dickens to see the funny
side of "the stone jug" — would not Sydney
Smith himself forget to joke if "pinched"
some night and sent to " the cooler."
What impression the first sight of a police
station leaves upon its unwelcome and unsatis-
fied guest ! Do human hearts beat under those
Uniforms ? Does this strange silence which sur-
rounds him mean that he is by the world for-
got. Are these damp walls weeping for him
and for his sad fate ?
In sheer despair he remembers that walls
have ears, Sind fo them he drones the pitiful
Btory ; but they will not hear. Even the echo
.:^S
MBMUI
L
162
THE STATION -HOUSE.
of his own voice frightens him, and he sinks in
stupor, if not slumber upon the hard floor.
Every night in Montreal sees within its sta-
tion walls the acts, be they initial or closing, of
some sad tragedy. The officers witness such
scenes of terror, of shame, and of vice as would
melt a heart of stone. It is true that constant
repetition has inbred in the police official a cer-
tain stolidity : he sees a crime and a criminal —
an offence and the offender ; but often he for-
gets the sad story back of it all.
And yet if he sees only the act and the actor
is it not true that the dual life exists which
he does not or will not see ?
^las not the criminal before him a sister who
will henceforih wilk with lowered head ; a
mother whose heart will never seem young
again ; a brother whose face will blanch at the
disgrace to an honored family?
Surely it is so.
A visit to any of the smaller police stations
in Montreal will not bo devoid of interest.
We shall see the drama of humanitv acted as
It never was on any stage ; we shall see a piece
THE STATION-BOUSE.
1(J»
Staged with a realism which defies the skill of
an Irving or a Daly.
And the actors who will take an unwilling
part in this performance — who are they ?
They are unknown to fiune ; the world has
never seen them before — never perhaps heard
of them. They are unheralded with gaudy,
posters and fraudulent advance notices, and
but a few lines in the next morning's paper will
reward their performance.
But what perfection of detail, what intensity
of purposes, what completeness of effect I
Tears and grief such as Haworth never gave ;
drunken humor which the genius of a Knight
in vain attempts to copy ; tricks of manner, in-
flations of voice, to baffle the experience and
study of a Coquelin.
Ah, my friends, it is here that we remember
Hamlet's saying that
•' The play's the thing
Wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king."
The conscic^ncc of the subject can be caught
by the drama, as seen at the police-station.
There are no footlights, no applause, and but few
■f't
164
THE 8TATI0X-H0USB.
spectators ; but the performance has a sad per-
fectioii, not to be found elsewhere.
At this minute in one of the branch police-
stations one of these scenes is being enacted
We cannot see the entire play — the four acts,
the prologue, and the epilogue ; but one scene
is offered for our instruction, and we will not
refuse to grace the occasion by our presence.
The rolling and the rattle of wheels is heard,
and a carriage drives up to the door of the
station-house, and an officer in uniform alights.
There are still two occupants remaining in the
cab, and the conversation strikes our ears.
'• Let me go, will you ?"
"Come out."
" Let me go — for God's sake let me go, and
I'll never-—"
" Come out."
" Oh, please let me go. I'll give you ten —
twenty — "
*' Come, now, or I'll make you."
" Hit me, would you ? You won't club me,
I tell you. There, take that."
- Oh— h !— " 1
The sound of what follows is dreadful. The
\
'
■«
'(Jl
>*
•D
i--^
f
>
I
THE STATION-nOUSB.
165
f
blows of the policeman's baton are falling upon
the head and shoulders of the untamable pris-
oner. Then the noise becomes faint, and only
a low moaning is heard.
From the cab another officer alights. The
scene has not occupied ten seconds, yet it
seemed an age. Two strong policemen issue
from the station-house and assist their com-
panions to carry the senseless man into the cell.
As he is borne within, a stream of blood trickles
down from his nerveless hands and leaves a
crimson trail.
What is his story ? What are the first acts
of this sad drama ?
This man is no common criminal ; he has a
wife and family, money and position, and his
present plight will cause his social ruin. He
has been found beating a low woman half to
death in a common brothel. His shameful
passions are costing him dear.
But stay! a noise is heard without, and seven
young men like Eugene Aram " with gyves
upon their wrists." Some with shamefaced air
hide themselves behind their companions in
misfortune, and look as if a second fate o<
166
THE STATION-HaUSB.
Sodom and Gomorrah would be welcomed by
them to Montreal. Others put on a bold front ;
they laugh and jest in a feeble way, but their
laughter has a hollow sound like clods of earth
falling upon a coffin. These low classes have
not yet served their apprenticeship in wrong-
doing, and at this hrst glimpse of justice they
falter and tremble. ' mi
Not so with some of the others. They have
been there before — many a time : they know
the penalty and are prepared.
They are not common loafers, arrested in
some low East End dive and awaiting confine-
ment and sentence as " habitual frequenters of
the same." Their entire appearance, even with
their present surroundings, speaks the gentle-
men.
This same night they have been strolling
through the unclassic regions alnjut St. Law-
rence and St. Catherine Street, East.
Secure in their numbers, they had made more
noise and created a greater ( isturbance than
even the St. Lawience Street policemen would
allow, and after a short chase they reposed safe
in the arms of the posse parading that district.
.Si^HadiMSSS^:
TBB STATIOK-HorSH*
167
To-morrow morning they will appear before
the Magistrate or the Recorder, be accused of
creating a disturbance on the public streets, and
fined. In triumph they will return and tell
their adventures to their own select set.
But some of them as yet do not see the
bright side of the case. They are thinking of
the long night in the cold, dark cell, the hard
floor, the bread and water, and, worst of all, the
publicity next morning.
A shuffle of feet at the doorway attracts
attention. A female voice, harsh and unmusi-
cal, grates upon the hearing.
" I won't go it."
More scuffling, a few choice expressions, and
a woman, half carried, half dragged in by two
constables, comes into view.
She is not altogether ill-looking, but there is
a brazen stare and an evil look in her eyes
which spoils what might otherwise be a pretty
face.
" Please, mister, do let me go. I tell you
how it was. You see it was just this way: I
wanted to know how far it was to Johnny
Kegan's saloon, so I went up to a nice, kind
I.
168
THE STATION- HOCrSB.
gentleman and asked him, and the cop came
up and pinched me for street-walking."
All this is rattled off with a volubility sim-
ply amazing ; but the officer in charge is un-
impressionable. There is a sort of "old
offender" air about the woman which [makes
him suspicious. He asks :
"Well, and what business had you at Johnny
Kegan's saloon at such an hour ?"
The assertion misses lire. Either the woman
is prepared or she is ready-witted.
" Well, you see, mister, the young man as
keeps company with me he sometimes goes up
there of an evening, and then, your honor — "
•* There, there, that last expression makes me
suspicious. You can use it to the Recorder in
the morning. Some one down there may
recognize you."
And she also disappears in the depths of dark-
ness in the rear.
A frightful din assails our ears. It is mon-
strous. Over all the noise of sculfling feet, of
something being carried along and dropped
every yard or two. Once in a while oaths and
cursing.
I
THB STAT10N-HOUSB.
169
Two men, each with a policeman on either
side, stagger into the room. Of their condition
there is no chance to doubt. They arc drunk
on vile whisky, and dangerous at that. An in-
describable odor permeates the room into which
they enter. It is more nauseous than the
exhalations of a corpse.
The livid skin and starting eyes, the trem-
bling hands and quaking knees, all tell their
tale. They are upon the verge of delirium
tremens, and ere long the snakes and the blue
monkevs will trail over them.
0
One glance at them, and their historv is read.
They are of that numerous class who cumber
the earth — too lazy to work, too cowardly to
steal ; living in foul dens and reeking brothels,
and issuing like bats only in the night-time.
They have been born vicious, and their early
training has not been of the kind to set their
feet aright.
In face of these criminals, society to-day is
powerless. True, it imprisons them, and they
are lost to sight and out of harm's way, but they
are a burden upon the tax-payers. If they are
sent down to do a term, ten others are born to
170
TBS 8TATI0N-H0USS.
take their place — born in ignorance, dirt, and
the vilest immorality, with no steady means of
support, but their wits and their dishonesty.
They are the creatures born of crowded tene-
ments and hideous and unnatural social condi-
tions.
The next customer walks in with the ease
and grace of a dancing-master. He needed no
club to persuade him that the way to the sta-
tion-house was the same in which the police-
man was directing him. His clothes were neat
and quiet, and his general appearance was pre-
possessing. Thev; had been a fire that night,
and he was caught red-handed with his hand in
a gentleman's pocket.
Upon the man's face the disciple of Lavater
might dwell awhile. There was no look of
dissipation, no red eyelids, no unkempt hair ;
the man w is neatness personified ; but a nerv- *
ous movement of his hands and a restless,
hunted look in his eyes spoke against him. He
was in all probability one of those whose hand
is against every man, and every man's hand
against him.
Once only he started, when a prominent city
r
THE STATI0N-U0U8G.
171
detective came into the station just as he was
being put into a cab to he driven to Police
Headquarteas. But the scrutiny did not re-
sult in anything satisfactory to the official. He
shook his head slightly and turned away.
A gleam of satisfaction shone for an instant
in the eves of the handcuffed man, and his lips
0
moved. Even a sigh seemed to escape him.
One would have sworn that he had said to
himself, '"That was a close shave."
But he lias smiled too early. Next morn-
ing we read that one of the smoothest and
most dangerous crooks in America has been
captured and that for a while he will he lost to
sigh in the quiet of St. V^incent de Paul.
We have seen some of the pluy and a few of
its actors, and we can meditate.
Right m Montreal is sin and sorrow, pover-
ty and crime. The vile purlieus of London or
the slums of New York it cannot reproduce in
quantity. There is not as much vice, for there
is not as much room for it: but vice is vice in
Montreal, as in New York ur London.
Montreal has no seven-story ruokerics which
raise their hideous heads to heaven from Mul-
173
TBX STATION- UOUSB.
berry and Baxter streets ; but poverty is cos-
mopolitan, and it is just as grinding in the low
cellars and dirty tenements of the Faubourg de
Quebec. For these unfortunates organized
chanty and education are necessary and claim
immediate attention. Who will begin this
Augean task ?
If we have directed the notice, intelligent
and charitable, of one man to the faults of his
native city, and to the ulcers upon her surface,
and underneath, this book has not been written
in vain.
We av^ait the result with anxiety not un-
mixed with hope.
THE END.